A Taste for Scandal

by Brenda Hiatt

  A moment later they arrived at a small thicket that might possibly conceal a fox. The huntsman and whippers-in were already throwing the hounds to draw the covert, guiding them through the low underbrush and tangles of brambles in hopes of flushing one out.

  Violet watched the process with interest. Though she’d been involved in the whelping and raising of her brother’s foxhounds, she’d had few chances to see them at their work. Intent on the hounds, she was startled to hear a strangely familiar voice.

  “Great Scott! Never tell me my little shrinking Violet has grown up to become the stunning creature I see before me!”

  Turning, she spotted the source—a tall, lean gentleman with waving blond hair, mounted on a fine bay hunter. On catching her eye, he grinned broadly and spurred his horse forward, closing the distance between them.

  “Julian? Is that you?” Childhood memories flooded her at the sight of his charming, white-toothed smile.

  “You do remember!” Julian Bigsby’s smile became even broader and fine lines formed around his cool blue eyes, warming them. “Never thought to see you again—and here of all places! What brings you to the Shires? I imagined you married to some duke or marquess by now.” He punctuated his words with a jovial wink.

  “Not yet.” She returned his smile. “I’m visiting with my brother at Ivy Lodge before going to London for the Season.”

  His smile dimmed slightly. “Ah, yes, your brother. He and his friend Dean were rather a trial to us both once upon a time, were they not? But of course we were all much younger then.”

  Violet frowned, puzzled, then recalled that her brother had not approved of her friendship with Julian. There had even been some sort of altercation between the young men when they were all in Lincolnshire during a school holiday, but she’d never known what it was about. Back then, of course, Lord Rushford had still been plain Ryan Dean.

  “I’d nearly forgotten that. Of course, I was but a child then, only thirteen or fourteen.”

  The dazzling smile returned. “Ah, but even then you showed promise of one day blossoming into a beauty—a promise you have exceeded. I find myself quite eager to know more of the woman you have become.”

  Violet was touched that he remembered her so fondly. Flattered by his admiration after Lord Rushford’s coldness yesterday, she smiled warmly in return. “I should also like to learn more of the gentleman you are now.”

  He leaned toward her with a roguish wink that made her cheeks warm slightly. “Surely we need not start over from scratch? May I presume upon our childhood acquaintance to use your Christian name, or will you insist that I call you Miss Turpin, as propriety demands?”

  “Oh, do let’s be Violet and Julian, as before,” she replied. “Miss Turpin and Mr. Bigsby seem far too formal for such old friends.”

  His well-shaped lips curved upward. “It will be my delight to submit to your request…Violet.” He held her eyes with his own, something in their expression causing a frisson of delighted alarm in her midsection. “Perhaps we—”

  He was interrupted by a cry of “Tally-ho!” signaling that a fox had broken cover.

  Both sorry and a bit relieved, Violet pulled her gaze away from Julian’s in time to see the reddish little creature go streaking over the hill and out of sight. The hounds were after it in an instant and more than a few gentlemen let out excited whoops as they prepared to go in chase.

  “We’ll talk more later,” Julian hastily promised before spurring his bay forward to join the other sportsmen.

  The moment the pack had a sufficient lead, the hunt began in earnest. Violet set a heel to Ares’ flank and he immediately leapt in pursuit. Urging him to a full gallop, they fairly flew down the other side of the hill. The keen sense of exhilaration she always felt when galloping on horseback was further heightened by that stimulating encounter with Julian and the excitement of her first hunt.

  Laughing aloud, she gave herself over to the pure joy of it—the sting of the wind on her cheeks, the crisp clear blue of the sky, and the music of the hounds. The first check came all too soon, forcing her to rein in just as she pulled even with those at the forefront—Lord and Lady Anthony, Lord Rushford and a few others.

  “What an absolutely splendid morning for a ride!” she cried. Ares danced slightly beneath her as if in agreement as the huntsman and whippers-in cast the hounds about the fallow field in search of the scent while the rest of the field slowly arrived.

  “Indeed!” Lady Anthony returned Violet’s grin, appearing nearly as euphoric as herself.

  Having now seen her in action, Violet had to concede that Lady Anthony was indeed a better rider than herself. She’d never imagined a woman—or man, for that matter—could ride so, as though she and her mount were one. Lord Rushford, Lord Anthony and Grant were also superbly skilled, but Lady Anthony was truly in a class by herself. Violet’s pride at seeing a member of her own sex outperform the men nearly equaled that of besting her brother earlier.

  On that thought, she turned to Lord Rushford. “I must thank you, my lord, for your assistance in convincing my brother to race me. I largely owe the pleasure of this hunt to you.”

  While promoting the race in front of Cottesmore house earlier, Lord Rushford had quite reminded her of the dashing young man she remembered. Perhaps he hadn’t grown so stuffy as she had feared? His formal reply, however, was more in keeping with his recent demeanor.

  “I must hope that earning your brother’s enmity will not be the price of your pleasure. It was worth it, however, to see the look on his face when you bested him. Bravo, Miss Turpin.”

  “Grant has never been one to hold grudges,” she assured him, smiling.

  His gray eyes sparkled with more amusement than his carefully schooled features revealed. “Glad I am to hear it, for you demonstrated that you’ve as much right to be here as any gentleman in the field. Perhaps rather more than some.” He glanced pointedly at the stragglers finally coming up, among them the very men who had denigrated her earlier.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she replied, warmed by his praise. “Though I could wish more of the gentlemen present felt as you do.”

  He held her gaze and for an instant she imagined a hint of answering warmth in his eyes, though his face remained impassive. “I generally prefer to judge people on their merits, not on their status or sex. Why should you not be allowed to take part, once you proved you could ride well enough?”

  Though there was nothing the least bit romantic about his words, the warmth in her belly inexplicably increased until she was sure it reached her cheeks. She suddenly felt as awkward as that fourteen year-old girl nursing a hopeless tendre. Lord Rushford, by contrast, wore an air of command like a well-fitted cloak.

  With an effort, she found the wherewithal to respond. “Perhaps if more men took your view, more women would be allowed to prove themselves. I’ve no doubt that were we permitted to follow our passions and talents as men do, it would be quite a different world—and one I should enjoy a great deal more.”

  His brows rose but before he could respond, the baying of the hounds called away his attention. A small sigh escaped Violet as they all set off again.

  Chapter Three

  The hunt ended mid-afternoon, when the hounds lost the fox’s scent and were unable to recover it despite the best efforts of the huntsman and whippers-in. Though most of the gentlemen seemed disappointed at the outcome, Violet was not. Vermin though they were generally considered, she had always thought foxes rather cute and similar enough to dogs that she could never celebrate their killing.

  Lady Anthony echoed her sentiments as she and her husband joined the party returning to Ivy Lodge for refreshments.

  “Anthony will have no cause to chide me for my squeamishness today,” she commented, riding alongside Violet while the men engaged in laughing conversation. “More often than not, I excuse myself at the end of a hunt rather than witness the kill. It may be blasphemy to the sportsmen and farmers, but I always give private thanks when
the fox escapes.”

  Violet smiled at the other lady, so near her own age. “I am glad to know I’m not alone in that. By the bye, Lady Anthony, I must tell you how very impressed I was by your riding today. My brother and his friends by no means exaggerated.”

  “Thank you. Though I never feel I can take full credit, as it is a skill I inherited from my mother, and her mother before her. You are quite an accomplished rider as well, Miss Turpin. Anthony tells me that horse is not particularly easy to handle.”

  Violet chuckled and patted her mount’s neck. “Perhaps so, but Ares knows me quite well—or did, when Grant spent more time at home. Thank goodness he remembered how to behave under a sidesaddle.” She did not add that she’d ridden longer and harder today than she had in years. No doubt her body would feel the effects tomorrow, if not sooner.

  “I should never have guessed that you had not ridden him recently, for you did splendidly.” Lady Anthony grinned across at her. “As I said earlier, I should love to see more ladies in the hunt.”

  “I hope to participate in as many as possible during my stay,” Violet told her. “Especially as I fear I’ll have no chance to ride at all in London.”

  “Why not? Riding is a perfectly acceptable pastime for a lady there, though galloping is rather frowned upon.”

  “So I discovered,” Violet agreed with a laugh, recalling her one midnight foray last year. “However my aunt, with whom I shall be staying, keeps no riding horses, as she is no equestrienne herself. Last Season she put me off until I was, er, obliged to return home.” There was no need to tell Lady Anthony why her Season had been cut short.

  They then fell to discussing horses they had known over the years and riding in general. By the time they reached Ivy Lodge, they were Violet and Tessa to each other and well on their way to becoming fast friends.

  Back at the house, everyone partook of the usual post-hunt repast of cold meats and ale. After seeing everyone’s plates filled, Lady Killerby motioned to the other three ladies to join her off to one side.

  “I’ve just had a splendid idea,” she said. “What say you we put together a little ball for this coming Thursday?”

  “A ball?” Violet glanced doubtfully around the parlor, the largest space Ivy Lodge boasted. “Here?”

  Lady Killerby was undaunted. “Oh, I do not pretend it will rival any of your dear mother’s entertainments at Plumrose, but if we throw open the doors between this room and the dining room, there should be room enough for two or three sets, and the pianoforte here is top notch. Thursday gives us ample time to send invitations, nor can the gentlemen beg off because of their dirt or claim to be too tired for dancing, as there will be no hunt that day.”

  To that they all agreed and the four ladies fell to discussing the particulars.

  The Seven Saints spent an hour or two of sharing food, drink and hunting stories, after which those not staying at Ivy Lodge made to depart. Before leaving, Tessa pulled Violet aside.

  “I have just had a thought,” she said. “When I was briefly in Town after my marriage last autumn, Anthony arranged for me to ride a horse from his brother’s stables. I am certain Lord Marcus would let you borrow him as well, for I doubt he’s been ridden much since then, if at all.”

  Something in her hesitant, almost apologetic manner prompted Violet to ask, “Why not?”

  “I fear he is rather an ill-tempered beast, and somewhat ill-favored as well. On second thought, perhaps you would rather not—”

  “No,” Violet quickly protested. “I have ridden more than a few horses considered ill-tempered by others. Indeed, I should quite enjoy the challenge. Do you really think Lord Marcus will not mind?”

  Her spirits rose at the thought, for she had dreaded the idea of an entire spring without riding.

  “His only concern is like to be your safety,” Tessa assured her. “I will write to him, however, attesting that you are skilled enough to manage that horse. You would be doing the poor fellow a mercy to give him some exercise…if you are not embarrassed to be seen riding him. He is rather an unattractive animal.”

  Violet grinned. “I don’t care two sticks about that. In fact, I look forward to seeing the expression on Aunt Philomena’s face when he is brought round. Thank you so much, Tessa.”

  Lady Anthony took her leave then, but Violet anticipated more conversations with her in the coming days. All in all, it had been a wonderful day.

  “Good run today,” Lord Uppingwood commented when only the gentlemen remained below. “Possibly the best since the new year began.”

  “Aye,” Sir Charles agreed. “And no matter what some sticklers in the Old Club might say, having the ladies along contributed, putting us all on our best form.”

  Rush sent a wary glance Thor’s way, but the other man only laughed. “I believe you may be right, Stormy, for all I was opposed to allowing my sister to ride today. I noticed several taking extra pains to look good out there.”

  “You’ve forgiven me, then, for my interference this morning?” Rush asked, only half joking.

  Thor shrugged. “Knowing Violet, she’d have found a way to insinuate herself into a hunt anyway. This way she at least had the blessing of the Master, so I suppose I must count myself grateful.”

  “Quite the handful, your sister, is she not?” quipped Roger Littleton, the youngest member of the Saints Club. “Pretty as she is, I’d not want to be the one responsible for her.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Thor shook his head ruefully. “Vi’s been getting into scrapes since she could walk, and the older she gets, the bigger the scrapes. Er—” He paused. “Don’t spread that about, eh? Wouldn’t want to queer her chances of landing a decent match during the Season.”

  “Any chap who ends up with that whirlwind on his hands has my deepest sympathy!” Uppingwood fervently declared.

  The others laughed and Rush forced himself to join in, thrusting down the surge of desire that went through him at the idea of taking Miss Turpin to wife. His appreciation for the headstrong hoyden had been more powerful than ever today. So powerful that, if it were not for his betrothal to Miss Simpson, he’d almost be tempted to take on that challenge himself.

  As Thor continued to regale them with stories of the various tangles she had fallen into or, more often, created for herself over the years, a measure of reason returned. Alluring as Miss Violet Turpin was, he could scarcely conceive of a more irresponsible choice for the next Countess Rushford.

  When Violet awoke the next morning, she was indeed sore from yesterday’s exertions, but did her best to hide her stiffness from the others when she went down to breakfast. Not for the world would she give her brother the satisfaction of crowing over her about it. Still, she was just as glad that no hunts were scheduled for Sundays.

  Breakfast was followed by services at St. Mary’s, then a light luncheon back at Ivy Lodge. Though Violet appreciated that none of these required any sort of painful exertion on her part, there was no excitement to be found in them, either.

  “Dina, what say you we visit the kennels?” she asked her sister-in-law as they rose from the table. “Given the time of year, I’ll be much surprised if there is not at least one new litter of puppies there.” Dina, she knew, was nearly as fond of dogs as Violet was.

  “I should love that, for Foxglove will be there, as well,” she said, referring to the pup Grant had given her for Christmas. “I daresay she is old enough now to leave her mother and come back with us to Ashcombe.”

  Grant, overhearing, decided to accompany them and short time later the three of them walked down the graveled path leading to the stables.

  “I must see about leaving my little pack here when we depart,” Grant commented. “As Rush is now leasing Ivy Lodge from Anthony, I suppose he’s the one I should speak to about it.”

  “Speak to me about what?” Lord Rushford’s voice from just behind them sent a little thrill up Violet’s spine.

  Turning, Grant grinned. “Just the man I ne
eded to see. You won’t mind me leaving Princess and the others here till summer, will you? Her pups are nearly ready to walk out with one of the local farmers, and Daisy’s will be so in a month. The farmers hereabouts have more experience with foxhounds than most.”

  “Need you ask?” Lord Rushford replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “Of course.” Then, turning a sardonic eye Violet’s way, “Did I notice you limping slightly earlier, Miss Turpin? I hope you did not injure yourself in any way yesterday?”

  “Not in the least,” she protested brightly. “A bit of passing stiffness, perhaps, but no more. Not surprising after such a ride as we had yesterday, and that after spending all of the day before in a carriage.”

  “Ah, good. I should hate to think I encouraged you to overtax your abilities.”

  Bristling at his amused tone, Violet lifted her chin. “My abilities were by no means overtaxed, my lord, as you will see when I ride with the Quorn tomorrow.”

  His amusement did not abate, to her irritation. “When? Do you not mean ‘if’? Or do you mean to challenge Thor here to a second race, in hopes of also convincing that Master to make an exception for you?”

  “Oh, but—” She turned to her brother. “As I did so well yesterday, surely you will intercede on my behalf, Grant?”

  To her dismay, he merely shrugged. “I suppose you may borrow Ares again, and if the opportunity presents I can speak to Mr. Assheton Smith, but I make no guarantees. The Quorn is easily the most traditional fox hunt in the Shires, as it’s the oldest. You’d best not get your hopes up,” he advised.

  It was more than he’d agreed to do for her yesterday, so Violet felt sure all would be well. In her experience, there was never any call to assume the worst, when the best was yet a possibility.

  They reached the kennels then, and Princess, Grant’s favorite bitch, greeted both ladies enthusiastically once she’d paid first honors to her master. Her pups were nearly twelve weeks old now, but still perfectly adorable. A moment later, Violet and Dina were both kneeling in the straw, cooing over them.