by Beth Byers
“What if I did work with Smith?”
Vi gasped. She didn’t mean to, it was just compelled from her. Smith had jested about it once, but with the joke now a possibility, she didn’t know how to react. She closed her mouth and eyes to avoid hurting him and pulled herself together. “I…”
Jack put his finger under her chin. She knew he wanted her gaze on him. The touch of his finger was enough and she opened her eyes.
“Oh, just let it out, Vi.”
“Let what—” The laughter burst out and she had to press her face into his chest. Once the giggles subsided, she croaked, “I noticed you said work with and not for Smith.”
“I’m hardly going to work for him. He’s about a half-step from a criminal.” Jack’s tone was semi-disgusted, and she could tell he was trying to talk himself out of his plan. There was, however, a light in his eyes that said he was energized at the prospect. It was something that was not the Yard and not nothing.
“But he has cases. He has people who need investigating. It’s not all cheating wives,” Vi said, and her tone wasn’t mocking in the least. Jack’s gaze met hers and she hoped he could tell by her expression that she didn’t think his working with Smith was funny. It was more the sheer shock of the idea being a reality.
“Sometimes he has cases that are…compelling.” Jack squeezed her hands, and she knew she was forgiven for the burst of laughter. Softly, gently, he rubbed his chin along her cheekbone, and she breathed him in, so grateful that he was the kind of man to share his worries and thoughts with her rather than shutting her out to protect her.
A thought occurred to Vi, and she took Jack’s face between her hands again. “I think you should do it. Or work for yourself. Or work with Smith sometimes and yourself sometimes. Jack, there are people who need help who can’t afford it. Like Simone Reeves. She was being hunted by Bates as much as I was, and she had to run away from everything she loved. She couldn’t see her family. We threw our resources at what was happening to me. Maybe…maybe if we’d been there, it never would have gotten to the next girl. Maybe those horrible things that happened to Simone could have been stopped. The Yard has good investigators. They don’t need you. But there are people who do.”
Jack pressed a kiss to her forehead before he asked, “How do I find them?”
“I think Smith might be your answer—at least to start. Even if it isn’t his cases, he has those shady connections of his. They’d probably know of those who might need help.”
Jack pressed his thumb under her chin and his gaze, those penetrating, knowing eyes of his, focused on her. “You would be all right with me working like this?”
Vi nodded without hesitation. “I want you to be as happy as you want me to be, Jack. We are so very, very lucky that you can pursue investigating, and I can pursue writing, and we will still be able to survive. Most of the world is struggling while whatever we do won’t affect our ability to feed ourselves or look after those we love. Choosing to do something that will protect those who need protection? That’s amazing. I love that about you. No matter where your cases come from, I will always love that about you.”
Jack pressed another kiss to her forehead and his fingers curled into her hips for a moment before he said, “I suppose we have to have dinner.”
“All of our friends are here for this celebration we’re hosting. Why is it us again?”
Jack grinned at her. “It’s possible I was approached by the town after having a few at the pub with my father.”
“Possible?” Vi demanded, remembering his ruddy cheeks and laugher when he came home from that trip to the pub with his father. She had felt as though she’d had a flash into pre-Great War Jack when he had been carefree.
“Likely, even.” Jack’s face was even, but she knew that glint in his eye, and she held back a corresponding grin.
Vi’s gaze narrowed on him. “A few?”
His grin turned wicked and teasing at the same time. “They do have such a good dark ale.”
“So quite a few. A plethora. A multitude even.”
Jack snorted as he rose, setting Vi on her feet. “The exact amount, in fact, that made it seem like an excellent plan to hold the village fête at our house and certainly not a drop more.”
Their house was full of guests for this fête as well as just general summer holidaying. The only person who should be there but wouldn’t be was Jack’s father. He’d woken up, realized what he’d done, and escaped the next morning before he was compelled into a two-legged race or sitting in a dunk tank. Jack’s father had, in fact, passed Rita’s father on the road. They’d lost one father to a hunting lodge while they gained another from Scotland.
Vi rolled her eyes and turned to her closet. Tonight was the first of the dinners that they’d end up hosting. There would certainly be one the day before the fête and others with Mr. Russell’s friends staying at the pub. She had bought rather an excess of clothes in the time after they’d found the fellow hunting her and before she left London. Her closet was so stuffed she might need to consider clearing it out.
“I’ve invited Beatrice and Smith to the fête,” Jack called. “I also said they could stay with us. I expect they’ll be here sometime during the middle of dinner or late this evening. Smith rang up and said they were on their way.”
“Of course,” Vi said, not caring in the slightest either about dinner being interrupted or about Smith staying in the house. Violet’s one-time maid, then secretary, now current business manager was always welcome. The shady Smith with his near-criminal ways had somehow become a friend as well. Vi had to admit, she was looking forward to seeing them both.
Rita’s father had also arrived with his lover. The woman was entirely unexpected when compared to Rita’s descriptions of her mother, let alone the last stepmother whom Vi had met. Melody Russell had been far too young, beautiful beyond belief, and had been trying to take over Rita’s life. Lavinia Forman, however, was at least forty. She had large brown eyes, dark hair, tinged at the temples with gray, and a sweet smile. Her demeanor was soft. It was as though she were the mother every girl had ever wanted. Her gaze was filled with approval, her tone was gentle, and the things she said were smoothed with kindness.
Violet shook her head at the image in her head, wondering how such a mother ended up with the loud and vivacious daughter? Vi rubbed her brow as she flipped through the dresses, considering them one-by-one. There was a rather pretty blue dress with layers of fabric that still managed to create a long, straight silhouette. There was a wine-red dress with black beading. Her favorite dragons had been set aside for swirls and leaves as though black vines were growing up the side of her dress.
The next dress was a sheer number, which overlaid a silk slip that kept the dress from the risqué. It was lavender-grey and light enough for the warmer weather. The sleeves ended at her shoulder. She’d add the matching silk gloves that went past her elbows and then her long strand of black pearls. With those heeled silver shoes, it’d be just what she wanted.
She was a fan of candlelight at dinner even though they had electric light, and her diamond choker and bangles would also sparkle while they ate. She would add something shiny on her ears as well.
She dressed slowly, using her new powder from the brand Artemis that she’d recently discovered. The compact was enameled with dragons, and there was a matching lipstick case. She had bought the color ‘Dragon Red’ and she carefully applied and blotted the lipstick while Jack leaned over her shoulder, straightening his tie.
“You look lovely as ever,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head so as not to smudge her cosmetics.
Vi met her own gaze in the mirror. Her sharp features were accented by her rouge and powder. Her eyes looked huge kohled and shadowed as they were. Her lips were full and red standing out against her powder and drawing the eye.
Her gaze turned from her face to his. Jack wasn’t classically handsome. He was more rough-hewn with a strong jaw, dark eyes, and broad sh
oulders. One didn’t so much notice the details of his features as the power of his silhouette. He was one of the largest men that Violet had ever met, and he treated her as though she were made of spun glass. She had never expected that someone being aware of every move she made could be quite so attractive, but Jack made her feel as though she were the North Star and he was a sailor alone on the seas.
“And, you,” she told him, “are all that I could wish. I love you, Mr. Wakefield.”
Chapter 3
Vi had met Lavinia Forman upon her arrival. Vi and Rita had even shown both Rita’s father, Mr. Russell, and Mrs. Forman to their rooms. Neither of them had felt guilty putting the couple on either side of Izzy Forman, even knowing that the girl woke singing and would burst into Mrs. Forman’s room at odd moments. The two friends had left Lavinia to rest, wash, and settle her things before dinner with a word of welcome that, while perhaps not heartfelt, were at least polite.
Vi didn’t see either Mr. Russell or Mrs. Forman until she and Jack entered the parlor where they were gathering before dinner. The other couple had reached the room first, and they were alone, tucked close together.
Mrs. Forman’s hand was resting on Mr. Russell’s arm, and he’d placed his free hand over the top of hers. Their heads were tilted together, and despite being alone in the room, they were whispering so low they could have been sharing state secrets. At first Vi thought they were having a sweet romantic interlude, but a moment later, she saw Mrs. Forman wipe away a tear and then nod rapidly at whatever Mr. Russell was saying.
Oh no, Vi thought. He was comforting her, or maybe telling her something that she didn't want to hear. Was it possible that the lovers were falling to pieces? Vi kept her expression even as she considered. The way they curled towards each other—that proclaimed an intimacy that wasn’t endangered with anger.
Vi’s and Jack’s entrance had been silent, so the older couple didn’t know they were being observed. They slipped back into the hall and then their gazes met. Vi saw Jack’s concern and knew that they had both seen something amiss. Vi winced, but before they could speak, the doorbell interrupted.
A few of Mr. Russell’s friends would be arriving along with Victor and Kate from their nearby house. Vi wanted to give Mr. Russell and his love space, but instead she scrunched up her nose and let out a loud, merry laugh in warning that the couple wouldn’t be alone for long.
As Hargreaves answered the front door, neither Vi nor Jack stepped nearer to the parlor and Vi took the chance to hiss, “What is that all about?”
“Maybe the girl?” Jack suggested. His expression said that he didn’t approve of how Ginny and Izzy had gone to a local event for young people. He didn’t care that his cousins were the ones who had arranged it, and he didn’t care that Izzy was an adult. He wanted Ginny home and Izzy here dealing with the people who had followed her mother and her soon-to-be stepfather to the country.
Vi, however, didn’t want him to worry, so she didn’t comment on what she knew he was thinking. “They’re probably struggling to work out whether they love each other,” Vi suggested. “Their relationship has to be rather new.”
“And they’ve lost before,” Jack agreed. “They’re both widowed. That isn’t something that you just shake off.”
Vi winced in commiseration for Mrs. Forman. Jack and Violet's early days of loving each other hadn’t been easy. Maybe Jack was also thinking back to those days when it seemed as though life had wanted to tug them apart, neither could read the other, and they were entirely uncertain of the other.
“What are you doing?” Denny demanded from the end of the hall. “Whispering sweet nothings?”
Vi turned and saw Lila on Denny’s arm. Lila looked amazing after having a baby. It had only been a few weeks, and she hadn’t slimmed down fully. Her curves might not have been the style, but she carried them well and there was a glow to her that Vi didn’t remember from before. The plan to have a nanny in place seemed to have been the perfect one, and Lila had fully recovered under her care.
“We’re whispering secrets,” Vi told Denny. “Why are you asking? Are you trying to find out our secrets and use them against us?”
“He assumed you were hiding. You look nefarious.” Lila glanced Vi’s dress over and nodded in approval. “Very pretty.”
“I’m not sure why we would be hiding in the center of the hallway on the way to dinner.” Jack’s even tone was mocking in its simplicity. Before Denny could reply, however, they heard voices from the front door.
“That’ll be the first of Mr. Russell’s friends who are at the inn,” Jack said. “He brought his friend, Benedict Brantley, who apparently came with all of his people.”
“And they’re all staying here?” Denny gasped. The horror on his face matched Vi’s for this evening. She had heard of the Brantleys through Rita and the tales were enough to convince anyone to avoid them. Rude marriage proposals, grasping hands, unfounded arrogance, and a willingness to set aside manners for the family’s betterment.
Vi shook her head, glancing into the parlor to see if the couple had noticed the people talking in the hall. If they had, they were remaining out of sight. “Just Rita’s father, Mrs. Forman, and her daughter. The rest are staying at the inn. Benedict Brantley and his wife, Neve, along with their widowed sister-in-law, Mina, and her daughter. Oh, and his brother. Apparently, they’ll go from here down to the sea for some fishing.”
Denny crinkled his nose. “Anything like Izzy?”
Vi shot him a dark look, glancing back towards the parlor again, and that time Denny caught the move. He eyed her hard, looking over her shoulder. She nodded, and he winced. Yes, they were being overheard.
“As zesty as Izzy?” Jack asked idly. “I doubt it. Not everyone can walk into the garden, declare it enchanting, mean it with their heart, and then break into an operatic song about the wonderful roses. Izzy is…uncommon to say the least.”
Vi winked at Jack as he offered his arm to escort her into the parlor where Mr. Russell and Mrs. Forman rose to meet to them. Before they finished their greetings, Mr. Russell’s friends were led into the parlor and Violet put on her Lady Violet face as she turned to face the situation.
Vi heard the exclamation of Rita’s voice followed by Ham’s low comment. Jack’s gaze widened, and Vi darted into the hall. “Ham!”
“I’m sorry, Vi,” he said. “I was trying to get here before your dinner. There was a bit of a knock up an hour or so ago and it delayed everything.”
“We’ll wait!” Vi told him with a merry wink.
She had caught the joy in Rita’s face at his presence and Vi couldn’t help but grin along with her. Those two were in as much love as she and Jack were, and seeing it in action made Vi feel her own love for Jack. She adored him.
“Oh, do change, Ham,” Rita insisted. “You know how good Vi’s chefs are.”
“For her to pick at her food,” Ham teased, “and indulge in her chocolate and ginger wine.”
Vi ignored their jabs. “If you’re famished, come as you are.”
One of the guests chuckled, and Vi glanced that way, but they were all even-expressioned and then Mrs. Forman said, “Of course Ham wants to take a moment, freshen up, and change into a fresh shirt.” Her informality was even more proof of how close the woman had grown to Rita’s father, to be addressing Ham by his given name.
“Surely it’ll take a while for the servants to bring in his things and prepare his clothes?” Vi wasn’t sure which of the Brantley men said that, but they were both sour at the idea of holding dinner.
The look on Ham’s face said he’d prefer to change, so Vi announced, “Jack! Cocktails!”
He touched her back and she grinned up at him. His gaze fixed on hers and she knew he was as happy to see Ham as Vi was. They were only exceeded really, by Rita, whose fingers were moving restlessly as she fought throwing herself into Ham’s arms, while he nodded and made his excuses, heading up the stairs.
“How long will this take?” one
of the Russell guests asked just as Vi’s gaze met Denny’s.
“Not long, I’m sure,” Mr. Russell said easily. “You skip afternoon tea, Josiah? Have a cocktail with olives, my friend. You’ll feel better in a moment.”
“Ham has clothes here,” Violet told them with a forced grin, but she knew her eyes were flashing with fury.
Perhaps they were being a bit unusual by giving Ham the time to change and join them. In fact, Vi turned to Jack and asked, “Shall we go about seating?” Ham would, of course, lead Rita in.
Jack nodded, handing around the cocktails while Hargreaves opened the door to the dining room. When they had seated themselves, Vi surveyed the table. She hadn’t been able to greet everyone who had joined them. Victor and his wife, Kate, had slipped in while the Brantleys were introduced. They were at the far end of the table near Jack, Josiah Bentley, and Mr. Russell. Closer to Vi were Rita and Ham. Denny, Lila, and the Bentley women were in the center of the table.
Vi caught Victor smirking her way. She grimaced, then turned to the fellow on her left. “Mr. Brantley, how delightful that you were able to join us.”
Given he had been the one objecting to Ham, Vi’s statement was a pure lie and her tone didn’t try to hide it. To her surprise Mr. Benedict Brantley didn’t even blink at her irritation. He smiled smoothly and then said, “Interesting house you have here. Is it from your father?” His Scottish accent would have been endearing if his attitude were less pompous.
“My husband’s family has owned it for generations,” Violet replied.
“The Yard man owns a house like this?” He lifted a brow and shot Vi a look that said her father, the earl, had overshadowed all of Jack’s own accomplishments. Perhaps, as compared to Carlyle House, Jack’s childhood home left something to be desired. To the rest of the rich, it was a respectable house with spacious rooms, beautiful art adoring the walls, furniture made by masters.
“Mmm, yes.” Violet cast him another dark look and turned to Ham, who had slid into the chair next to Vi while she was talking to Benedict.
