A Bride Unveiled

by Jillian Hunter

  “Missing? What the devil are you talking about?”

  “At Wenderfield’s party. You were upset yourself that Violet disappeared. Don’t you remember?”

  Godfrey bristled. The unmitigated nerve of the man. Who did Pierce think he was? Should Godfrey report this impoliteness to Fenton? Was there, truly, anything of consequence to report? Fenton despised pupils who carried tales like little children.

  Fenton and Violet. Violet had been in the pavilion with the marchioness during the breakfast party. Godfrey had seen the two ladies together with his own eyes.

  Was Pierce insinuating that Violet and Fenton were engaged at this very moment in a liaison? Impossible. Outrageous . . . and yet it wasn’t as if Godfrey had not sensed a tension between his fiancée and the fencing master.

  “Where my fiancée spends her time, Mr. Carroll,” he said, giving Pierce the shoulder, “is not anyone else’s affair.”

  Pierce smiled, polite now, perhaps even penitent. “You are correct, sir. My sincerest apology. It is her affair, not mine.”

  Dear Twyford had not said a word to Violet during the drive back to Mayfair. There had been no recrimination in his eyes, only his ever-present concern. She did not doubt that he would lie to protect her. His devotion to her took nothing from his loyalty to her aunt, but he had been butler since Violet was a baby, and no matter what society said, they felt a deep affection for each other. She did not want to land him in trouble with Aunt Francesca over Kit. What had happened today wasn’t Twyford’s fault. Violet had gone of her own free will to Winifred’s rooms.

  She had gone knowing that Kit would be there. Yes, she wished she could have seen Winifred, to assure her that she held no grudge, but it was Kit who had drawn her there, Kit she needed and who had accepted her challenge. But was that challenge as easy for him to conquer as he made it seem?

  She bathed in warm rose-scented water, preparing to face her aunt, but it did not help. She had no idea how to confess the truth. She knew only that after today she would never belong to anyone else, and concern for her reputation paled in comparison to her passion for Kit.

  But if any scandal reached Aunt Francesca, or if Kit confronted her aunt with the truth, the damage inflicted would be unthinkable. Violet had to make her aunt understand. Aunt Francesca had dedicated her life to sheltering Violet.

  How ungrateful Violet would seem when she admitted that she could not marry the gentleman her aunt had chosen to be her protector. She needed passion and laughter in her life. Godfrey cared too much for the unimportant things in the world. She wanted the imperfection and inconvenience of children. But most of all she wanted a love built on a foundation of friendship and a man strong enough to defy the world’s limitations and win.

  A man who knew her heart.

  She dressed slowly and made her way through the hall to the upstairs drawing room. In surprise she noticed a tall, bearded gentleman sitting next to Francesca by the window.

  “I didn’t know we had a guest,” she said, hesitating at the door.

  He rose from his chair. “Miss Knowlton?”

  She noticed the bottles on the tea table, the fashionable cut of his frock coat, his professional tone of voice. “I am the physician to the Marquess of Sedgecroft,” he said. “If I may talk to you in private . . .”

  She glanced again at her aunt, who appeared to be drifting into a peaceful doze. “What is it?” she asked when she and the doctor faced each other in the hall.

  “Your aunt’s malaise comes from angina, I am sure.”

  “From where?”

  “From what. It has been suspected by my fellows for some time that excitability of the nerves can cause disorders.”

  “What is her disorder?”

  “It concerns her heart.”

  “Is she going to—”

  “I do not believe so. It all depends on the condition of the valves. It will help, however, to keep her calm when she feels any distress. Have her drink peppermint tea before her meals. Call for me if she grows pale or feeble at any time. She may take laudanum if she feels pain, and the drops of digitalis that I have prescribed.”

  “Then she cannot leave the house?”

  “Good God, of course she can. She must. Light activity is beneficial. What lifts the spirit heals the heart. She is resting now.”

  She trailed him to the top of the stairs. “We are supposed to attend a house party together.”

  He nodded. “Enjoy yourselves.”

  “But her heart . . . Isn’t there anything else I can do?”

  He looked down at the butler standing in the hall below. “Yes. You can keep her bundled up in cold weather and discourage her from eating rich foods. Above all, you must not be maudlin about this. Be cheerful, for her sake and your own.”

  “Thank you,” Violet said, sighing as he descended the stairs.

  To think she’d been so content in Kit’s arms only hours ago. She would never have forgiven herself if anything had happened while she was gone. But by the same token she couldn’t deceive her aunt any longer. She would have to wait now until an opening presented itself. Would she find the words to convince Francesca to accept Kit? To persuade her that the man Violet had chosen for herself was better than Francesca’s choice?

  Chapter 20

  A change of engagement.

  His sword would not win this battle for him.

  Kit would need the devil’s luck to pull this off.

  He might end up in a duel himself if Godfrey would not release Violet from their betrothal.

  He had watched from the window until he saw Twyford escort Violet to the carriage. A few minutes later he took a hackney to his own lodgings to change. From there he went to the Bond Street office of the solicitor that one of his patrons, the Duke of Gravenhurst, had suggested he visit should he ever need legal guidance. He carried the sealed letter that the duke had given him to use as an entrée. He had trained the duke personally in the use of the sword throughout the years of their acquaintance.

  The reception room was crowded with men and women from various walks of life. When Kit was finally called to Mr. Thurber’s office, he had worked up a speech to introduce himself.

  “I gave His Grace fencing instruction here in London and at his Dartmoor estate, sir. My name is—”

  “Fenton. Yes, yes. The Fenton. The duke thinks highly of you. I hope you are not here because you have killed a person.”

  Kit laughed and withdrew the letter from his pocket. The solicitor took and dropped it, unread, into a portfolio that appeared to be filled with similar missives. “I was led to believe that the duke’s letter entitled me to legal advice and perhaps a small favor.”

  “Not a small favor at all, Mr. Fenton,” he said, sinking back in his chair. “A sealed letter like yours is basically carte blanche from His Grace. What is it that you need? You do not appear to be in a desperate situation, but then, appearances mislead.”

  Kit slid forward in his chair, balancing his walking stick between his knees. “I am rather desperate.”

  “Have you killed an aristocrat in a duel?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been caught cuckolding a prominent husband?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Creditors?”

  “None.”

  “Then?”

  “I am desperately in love with a lady who is engaged to another man. I would like a license to marry her as soon as legally possible.”

  “Is the lady in an urgent position?”

  “In my opinion, yes. We both are.”

  “I meant could she be carrying your child?”

  Kit paused. If not for the self-control he had summoned at the last moment today, he would not have been able to answer that question. “No.”

  The solicitor stared at him across the desk. Kit had the sense that he wasn’t shocked by the request. But then, working as the scandalous Duke of Gravenhurst’s solicitor, he was probably well-versed in controversy.

  “Pl
ease submit your name and address to my clerk before you leave, Mr. Fenton. And the same information about the lady, if you please.”

  Kit’s walking stick tilted forward. He caught it before it hit the desk. “That is all there is to it?”

  “Unless the lady’s betrothed brings legal action, then yes. If he withdraws with grace, that will be the end of the matter. If not, I shall appeal to his finer instincts, and if that does not work, then I shall appeal to his purse.”

  “And your fee?”

  “That has been covered by His Grace.”

  Kit stood, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to thank you. Both of you.”

  “In the duke’s case, the less said of him the better. He would prefer that his favors be kept private.”

  “On my honor, sir.”

  “I hope, then, that you and this lady will be happy together. You will receive the special license shortly at your address.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thurber. And thank His Grace for me.”

  The solicitor nodded. “Please let me not read in the papers that your engagement is followed by a duel.”

  It was late by the time Kit returned home to wash and dress. He could not show up on Violet’s doorstep to announce his intentions at this hour. And his intentions were to make her his wife before he fulfilled his obligation to perform at the upcoming house party. He could not think of an easy way to tell Godfrey that he was stealing his fiancée. Godfrey would have to accept the loss like a man. Godfrey could demand satisfaction, but knowing what he did about the baronet, Kit thought it more likely he would demand his subscription money back.

  Violet’s aunt was a different matter. The thought of facing her terrified Kit. It was doubtful that Lady Ashfield would challenge him to a duel. But at least he could approach her with a relatively clean conscience.

  He had left Violet with her virtue intact, and even though his body ached with regret, refusing to take her maidenhead today had been the right thing to do. He had meant it when he’d told her that he was finished with stolen moments and separations.

  He went to the academy later that night. He’d missed several lessons today, and with the house party rapidly approaching he could not afford to lose time necessary for last-minute training.

  Almost nightly a pupil, current or former, would wander in, pick one of the foils from the wall, and fence with an adversary he might or might not know until he had warded off whatever demon had driven him to the school. A few left money on the hallstand, a sign of the success they had achieved in life, or of respect to the master.

  Some helped themselves to whatever happened to be left around: a forgotten cloak, a good sword, a half-drunk pint. The rule was to take only what you needed and return it when you could.

  There were more returns than thefts.

  But on most nights at least one swordsman came by and ended up spending the night at Kit’s lodging house. Some had gotten into trouble at home and needed advice. Some had no home. Some were looking for trouble.

  Kit heard laughter drifting from his private dressing room.

  He detected a female’s scent in the air, not cheap, but the costly perfume of a Mayfair wife. It reeked of explicit passion. He walked past the small gallery stairs and saw a woman’s cloak lying over a chair.

  He knew right away that his visitor was not Violet. He would have been furious if she had come to this part of London at this hour without a damned good reason. He pushed open the door of his dressing room, where a lamp burned low.

  His mouth thinned in disgust. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness and identify the half-naked figure straddling the young man who sat spread-legged on the armchair.

  Although all Kit could make out was her bare back and loosened red hair, he knew he had seen her before.

  It was a strict rule of the school that ladies, either visitors or pupils, must be under escort at all times. If an actress arrived for lessons to prepare for a part, she did so in daylight and laughed off the insinuations of disrepute that such activity engendered.

  The woman turned at the waist, one hand coyly covering her breasts.

  “Master Fenton?” she whispered.

  He stared at her, recognizing that cloying voice. Not any Mayfair wife, but Viscountess Bennett.

  “Where have you been?” she said, petulant now. “You missed several scheduled lessons. My servant has been watching the salon for hours.”

  “Then he can see you back to your husband.” He entered the cramped room in cold fury, recognizing the man lounging back in the chair. “I should have known you’d be involved.”

  Pierce glanced up, casually refastening his shirt and trousers. “I took the liberty of covering for you. I didn’t think you’d mind. The other students needed practice. And Lady Bennett had other needs.”

  He stood unmoving as she approached, relacing her gown. “What are you doing here?”

  She shook her head, the answer obvious. “This is your place of business. Name the price.”

  He gave an incredulous laugh. “Do you think I am a male whore to be bought?”

  She slowly pulled up her sleeves. “We both know you are not a wealthy man. I desire you.”

  “I have never shown the slightest interest in you. Why should you desire a commoner who disdains you?”

  “Christopher Fenton is no ordinary commoner,” she said. “He can ward off a man with his sword and pleasure a woman at the same time.”

  He leaned back against the door. “That is the most ludicrous statement I have ever heard.”

  “It is also said that you are a master in more ways than one.”

  A cab rattled by in the street. Kit’s patience was dwindling. It would be just his luck if a group of his younger pupils burst in to witness what could easily be mistaken as a ménage à trois.

  “What kind of woman,” Lady Bennett asked, her gaze still riveted to his face, “do you desire?”

  He thought instantly of Violet, and his body responded.

  “What kind of woman,” Lady Bennett asked, her hand lifting, “tempts a man who is dedicated to his art?”

  He caught her wrist before she could touch his belt. “Since you have shown an interest in the art, let me explain a basic rule in fencing. A man does not leave his blade or any other part of his body unguarded.”

  She looked rather pleased that she had at least provoked some physical reaction from him. “I will be waiting if you change your mind. I could make you a very wealthy and satisfied man.”

  He released her hand and looked past her to the man sitting motionless on the chair. “Walk her to the door,” he said curtly. “And don’t bring a woman here again.”

  Pierce laughed. “I didn’t bring her here. She wanted you. I was keeping her company to be polite.”

  A moment later Pierce returned to the salon. Kit was standing in front of the stairs to the fencing gallery. “Why are you the only student here?” he asked suddenly, realizing that his rooms had been empty when he returned home. “Where has everyone gone?”

  “They’re probably at Wilton’s house, sir. We ran into a spot of trouble outside his club last night. Kenneth and Tilly had to take him to his mother’s house. We tried to find you, sir, but no one knew where you’d gone.”

  Kit could not hide his reproach. “Do not tell me that you and Wilton got into a public fight.”

  “Sir, we answered an insult. Wilton required the services of a surgeon, but he held his own against the men who disrespected us. You would not have wanted us to slink off like cowards.”

  Kit stared at him in contempt. For a moment he could have sworn he saw a flash of malice in Carroll’s eyes. The bastard had a taste for blood. There was trouble in a pupil like that.

  “I’ve no interest in training gentlemen who use their skill as an excuse to kill, unless they are pursuing honor. I take it that honor had nothing to do with what happened last night?”

  “Master,” Carroll replied with a woeful smile, “isn’t honor a
personal matter to decide?”

  “You are going to ruin my reputation,” Kit said through his teeth. “I can only hope no one will die as a result of your rash behavior.”

  Pierce put his hand to his heart in feigned remorse. “I give you my word that I will not take up a sword again in anger unless it is for honor’s sake.”

  Chapter 21

  Violet and her aunt were viewing fashion plates together the next morning in the drawing room when Twyford announced that a gentleman visitor wished to be received. The caller had declined to give his card. From the twinkle in the butler’s eye, Violet knew that this person could not be a stranger.

  “A stranger?” Aunt Francesca mused, looking remarkably well after a good night’s rest.

  It was unthinkable that Twyford would allow a notorious figure, a fencing master with Kit’s history, into the house. Twyford would never risk upsetting the baroness with such a bold action. But then, Twyford had become bolder with age. He had escorted Violet only yesterday to a scandalous encounter.

  Violet had taken advantage of her butler’s tenderness too many times to count. She rose from her chair and headed to the door, stepping on the plate that had slipped from her lap. She looked down at the picture of the bridal dress she had been admiring. She’d torn it with the heel of her shoe. It reminded her that she had bought only a pair of long white gloves for her trousseau. The lonely purchase didn’t say much for her enthusiasm. How would she ever be able to look at Godfrey again?

  “Violet,” her aunt said in concern. “What is wrong with you today?”

  “I . . .” She shook her head.

  “Do you have something to tell me?”

  “Yes, but . . . I don’t know how to start.”

  “Well, then—”

  “Madam,” Twyford called from the hall.

  “Who is it, Twyford?” her aunt asked in disconcertment.

  “The gentleman would like his identity to be a surprise.”

  The baroness hesitated. She looked again at Violet, her face contemplative, and gave a shrug. “You had best not bring a scoundrel into this house, Twyford, or I shall put you out onto the streets to beg.”