“Wherein Violette plots her own disgrace.”

 

Staring out of the carriage at a frozen landscape, Violette shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her. The hot brick beneath her feet had cooled down some time ago and she felt chilled to the bone. But she didn’t care a jot. She was on her way back to London, and to Aubrey.

She was aware that she still didn’t have a solid plan of how exactly she was going to force Aubrey to marry her. He was an honourable man, after all, and unless she’d ruined herself so completely that no one else would possibly have her, she doubted he’d go through with it.

At the same time, however, she did have her pride, and she didn’t want some truly awful rumour going around about her. After all, Aubrey would not want to be completely shunned by society. So, she needed to be ruined just enough, but not so irredeemably as to put her completely beyond the pale.

It was a dilemma.

Her brother kept casting her suspicious looks from across the carriage. Violette didn’t blame him. It was fairly obvious she was plotting something nefarious, as she’d kept her lip buttoned for most of the past three days rather than using every opportunity to rile him. She knew she ought to have kept up the pressure, but she was too lost in her own concerns to keep tormenting him. A pity, but there it was. The devil of it was that he would no doubt be watching her like a hawk now. Getting away from him at all was going to take all of her evil genius.

Glancing across the carriage once more, she saw her brother’s watchful gaze narrow, his expression cautious and leery. Favouring him with a saccharine smile, she tossed her blonde curls and turned to look out the window. Violette pictured his face when the news was broken to him that she had become Mrs Russell, and tried not to grin. She bit her lip to try and curb her amusement, and glanced back to see the leery expression was now a full-blown scowl. She turned away quickly, hugging her arms around herself and doing her best to look guileless. Let him stew, she thought with satisfaction. Suddenly she didn’t feel so terribly cold.

It was, of course, natural that she would want to return to see her dear friend Celeste the moment that she was back in town. After all that her brother owed to the Falmouth’s, from giving her sanctuary to finding him before he could suffer at the hands of his cousin, he could hardly quibble. Violette did, however, have to suffer a severe lecture on her deportment and a warning that she was under no circumstances to meet with Mr Russell.

Violette did suffer it, seething inwardly, but somehow managed to keep the vexation from her face whilst murmuring, yes, Eddie and no, Eddie, at the appropriate moments. It was harder to keep outwardly placid and agree with him than she might have imagined when all she wanted to do was throw things at him. Instead, she kept her hands demurely in her lap and wondered where she’d inherited her violent impulses from. Maybe she’d inherited some of the Greyston family madness herself?

By the time she’d found her way to Mayfair, however, she was wound tight enough that her words cascaded in a dramatic tumble around poor Celeste, who stared at her in alarm.

“Zut alors!” Celeste cried, taking her hands and guiding her to a chair. “Calm yourself, Violette. I cannot understand what you are telling me. What is this, your brother engages you to Ranleigh?”

Violette hauled in a breath and waited until the footman who’d entered bearing a laden tea tray had once more left them alone.

“Yes,” she said as the door closed. “I couldn’t tell you in my letters, just in case, but ... Oh, Celeste. He says the duke is looking favourably on the match, and if I please him over the next few days, he is bound to offer for me.”

“Alors.” Celeste handed her a cup before taking a generous slice of plum cake for herself, and shook her head. “Then don’t please him!” she replied, laughing.

“Oh, that bit is simple enough,” Violette said, sipping at her tea and frowning. “But then I have to live with my brother’s wrath, and besides ...”

She hesitated and wondered how far Celeste’s friendship could really be stretched.

“Besides?” Celeste prompted as Violette had fallen silent.

She watched Celeste as she worked her way through the plum cake with dainty fingers, and decided she couldn’t do this without her help. Either Celeste would help her, or her plan - such as it was - was doomed to failure.

“Besides,” she repeated, her tone firm as she stared at Celeste, daring her to talk her out of it. “I mean to marry Aubrey. By fair means or foul,” she added, just to be sure Celeste knew she wasn’t about to be put off

To her relief, Celeste squealed with delight and set the plate to one side, moved enough to hug Violette with enthusiasm “Oh, I am so ‘appy,” she said, looking delighted. “I knew I was not mistaken about you.” Celeste shuffled a little closer on the settee and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “These men,” she said. “They do not know ‘ow to deal with these matters. It is as well that you take control. Oui?”

“Oui, I mean, yes,” Violette replied, so pleased by her reaction she felt a little flustered. But now came the difficult bit. “I mean to elope with him,” she said in a rush, wondering if this would be a step too far, even for the adventurous countess. But Celeste merely clapped her hands together in delight.

“Oh, mon Dieu,” she said, giving a heartfelt sigh, her blue eyes shining with wonder. “But ‘ow romantic.”

Violette snorted and set down her cup and saucer. “Well, it might be,” she conceded with a wry smile. “If the groom was willing and knew anything about it.”

Celeste waved her hand as if this was a trifling consideration. “We must deceive ‘im some’ow of course, to get ‘im in the carriage. But once you ‘ave left, it is un fait accompli, n’est-ce pas?”

Violette bit her lip and wondered at the nagging doubt that still assailed her. “B-but does he still want to ... to marry me?” she asked, hardly daring to look in her friend’s eyes in case she saw any doubt there. “I mean ... there will be the most dreadful scandal, and perhaps ... perhaps he will not want to face it?”

She looked down as Celeste covered her hand with her own and gave it a squeeze. “If you could see ‘ow sad ‘e ‘as been, Violette, ‘ow lonely, you would know there is only one answer to that question.”

Violette let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding and smiled. “Well then,” she said, feeling happier than she had in weeks. “How exactly does one arrange an elopement?”

***

Aubrey downed the champagne in his hand and tried hard not to glower. From the way a group of foppish young men parted before him like the red sea and muttered apologies, he felt it was a wasted effort. Why he was even here was something he didn’t have an answer for. Why torment himself, knowing that he was as far from marrying Violette as the sun was from the moon?

She looked like the sun tonight, so it was an apt enough description. Her hair was a mass of golden curls that framed her lovely face and she wore a delicate dress of ivory tulle embellished with small golden roses. There was more gold in the thread of the dress that caught the light as she moved, so she glittered and sparkled and looked so very lovely that Aubrey could hardly catch his breath when he looked upon her.

Her brother was very much in evidence, however, and was making no effort to disguise the fact that he was watching Aubrey. He needn’t have worried, Aubrey thought with a pain in his chest like the twist of a knife. She hadn’t even glanced at him all evening.

He’d thought after so many weeks of absence that she would have been as eager as he for any contact, no matter how brief. Yet it seemed to him that she was determined to keep as far from him as possible.

“Aubrey.”

He looked around to see that Celeste was addressing him and tore his eyes away from the ballroom and Violette’s elegant figure dancing with his friend Tommy, Earl of Stanthorpe. Perhaps she would at least have a message to give him?

“Do stop looking so glum, Aubrey,” Celeste said to him, giving his arm a playful tap with her fan. “You must know she cannot approach you with her brother watching you both like an ‘eron.”

“A hawk,” Aubrey corrected with a sigh.

She blinked and stared up at him in confusion. “Quoi?”

“It’s a hawk, not a heron.” Aubrey turned to see her nonplussed expression and rolled his eyes. “He’s watching us like a hawk, that’s a bird of prey.”

Celeste tutted at him with impatience. “Why are you talking about stupid birds at a time like this? Really, you are extremely vexing this evening.”

Aubrey opened his mouth to protest and decided he didn’t have the energy. “She’s not even looked at me all evening,” he replied instead, quite unable to keep the dejection from his voice, especially as he saw the immaculate and sophisticated figure of the Duke of Ranleigh moving towards her to claim the next dance. “Perhaps she’s realised how much better off she’d be with Ranleigh,” he added, replacing his empty champagne glass with a full one. “Ow!”

He turned to scowl at Celeste, who had delivered him a sharp rap across the knuckles with her fan.

“What the devil was that for?” he demanded, shaking his hand as the sting subsided.

“For talking such fustian!” Celeste retorted, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance.

“God, you’re violent,” he muttered, giving her a look of reproach. “I suppose I should be grateful you’re not carrying a blasted umbrella.”

Celeste gave an unladylike snort but didn’t disagree. “That poor girl ‘as been breaking ‘er ‘eart for weeks, you ridiculous man, but if you don’t think of something soon, she will marry the duke because ‘er stupid brother will make ‘er.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do?” Aubrey demanded, feeling quite as annoyed as his friend. “I’ve done everything I can, but even if all goes according to my plans, it will be at least two years before I can afford to marry her!”

“Oh, Aubrey,” Celeste exclaimed. “She is an heiress for ‘eaven’s sake! She doesn’t need your money, she needs you! If your pride is so fragile, then you ‘ave two years to endure married life living entirely on ‘er funds before you can ‘old your ‘ead up. It is an ‘ardship to endure for the one you love, n’est-ce pas?” she said with a mocking tone.

Aubrey huffed and folded his arms. Trust a woman to see things in such terms. Though if it were only that, he thought his pride could stand it better than watching her marry another man. The thought of that was enough to keep him from sleep and spend too many nights with a bottle for company. But further to that was the idea that she would be estranged from her brother and create the very devil of a scandal. Surely even the intrepid Violette Greyston would baulk at the idea if she really thought about what it would mean for her?

But all he could remember when he saw her before him was the night in his rooms before Alex arrived. The determination in his heart that they belonged together, that he would move heaven and earth to be with her. No matter what. It was the same whenever they were alone together, the same conviction in his heart. Yet he here was again, standing in a ballroom and watching her dance with the man her brother intended her to marry, and doing nothing. Nothing. Was he really as hen-hearted as she accused him of being?

No, dammit.

He really wasn’t.

***

“What?” Violette snapped and looked up at her partner in irritation as her attention was taken away from Aubrey, even though she’d been trying hard not to look at him. She was met with pair of warm brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, and an expression of mild consternation. She stumbled a little. Her exalted partner rescued her, his strong arms moving her back into the dance with ease.

“I do beg your pardon, your Grace,” she said, utterly mortified as the handsome face before her studied her with amusement.

“Not at all,” he murmured. “It is quite refreshing to find someone who does not hang upon my every word, I assure you.”

Violette searched her poor, addled brain for a subject of conversation, but her mind was so filled of plans for her own elopement that she came up empty. Oh well, at least the man could have no interest in marrying her after this performance. She glanced up at him again and thought with a rueful smile that he was really rather good to look at, and there was a twinkle in his eyes that spoke of a wonderful sense of humour. Though he was rather a lot older than her, his hair greying a little at the temples, Violette had to concede that if her heart hadn’t been so completely stolen by a certain Mr Russell, his Grace, the Duke of Ranleigh, wouldn’t be such a terrible prospect.

“I can’t help but feel that any advances of my suit are likely to be met with a cool rebuff, Lady Greyston.”

His voice was urbane and gently amused and Violette looked up to see his gaze following Aubrey across the room. She decided there was little point in being coy with someone who had clearly seen straight through her.

“I love him,” she said, surprised by the challenge in her own voice.

That surprise only grew as the duke just smiled at her and gave a nod. “Then I can admit to my disappointment and say that he is a very fortunate man.”

Violette let out a breath and shook her head. “No, he’s not,” she said, her tone candid and far too confiding. This open manner of speaking was the kind of thing that had always gotten her into trouble, her overt honesty, and yet the duke seemed like the kind of man who would respect her confession. “In fact, you’ve probably had a most lucky escape. Poor Mr Russell, he’s rescued me from all manner of scrapes, and all he’s got in return is a terrible and undeserved reputation as a rake and a libertine. I’m afraid I’ve brought him nothing but trouble,” she said, quite unable to keep the despondency from her voice.

“My, you’ve really done all that?” he replied, frowning at her, but looked as though he didn’t believe it.

“Yes,” she said, nodding, as he guided them effortlessly around a difficult turn. “I really did. It’s a wonder that he loves me at all after all the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Ah, but such a prize is worth a little trouble, surely?”

She looked up, her eyes sharp on him, wondering if he was quizzing her, but his expression was one of genuine sympathy.

“My brother opposes the match,” she admitted, holding his gaze and seeing the rueful smile he gave her with astonishment.

“No doubt,” he said with a laugh, a genuinely warm rumbling sound that she couldn’t help but feel wasn’t often heard. “With a duke dangling before his eyes, who can blame him?” He grinned at her and Violette was startled into laughter herself. In the warmth of that laughter she dared to be terribly forward, and most awfully rude.

“Well, in that case ... would you mind awfully going and dangling somewhere else?”

The dance had come to a close and he stood still, staring at her, eyes wide with shock. He gave a sudden, slightly outraged bark of laughter. Then he laughed so hard his dark eyes watered and they drew stares from the other couples around them.

“Hush,” she scolded, tugging at his arm. “Everyone is looking.”

“I do beg your pardon,” he apologised, struggling to compose his face into something less expressive. “I don’t know what came over me.” Ranleigh looked down at her as he settled her hand on his arm and walked her back across the ballroom. “Mr Russell, is he the son of Baron Russell?” Violette nodded, keeping her eyes out for her brother. The last thing she needed was him to overhear this conversation.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said, glancing up at him as they moved towards the refreshments.

His face grew troubled. “Never liked the baron,” he admitted, looking at her with concern. “Falmouth is a good sort though, not that you’d know it to look at him,” he added with a wry smile.

“Lord Falmouth and the countess have been terribly kind to me”

“Falmouth mentioned that your Mr Russell had a project that he was working on. Something to do with Stephenson’s locomotives. I thought it sounded rather interesting,” he admitted.

“Oh,” Violette replied, looking up at him with growing warmth. “If there is anything you can do ...” she began and then ground to a halt, knowing that she was being appallingly vulgar.

“There, there, my dear,” he murmured, patting her hand. “If Falmouth recommends the project, it is unlikely not to gain my support.” He moved away for a moment and returned bearing a glass of lemonade for her.

“Thank you,” she said, with gratitude. The ballroom, as ever, was unbearably hot and stuffy. She sipped at her drink, her eyes searching the room and finding Aubrey as if drawn by some magnetic force. Celeste had been marvellous in helping her make the arrangements for her elopement, though she felt a tremor of remorse at the idea that the countess would be in the most dreadful trouble when it was discovered. But there was one terrible impediment that she simply couldn’t get past. The special licence. Without that, they would be forced to go all the way to Gretna Green, and Violette suspected that Aubrey would not allow himself to be talked into that. At least four days, and nights, on the road, alone together. She sighed at the thought. She’d never be able to persuade him to that. But to present him at a church with a licence in her hands ...

Violette looked up, aware that she was being scrutinised, and found the duke watching her with curiosity.

“Forgive me,” she replied, flushing with embarrassment. “I’m afraid I’m being a very poor companion for you this evening.”

“Not at all,” he replied, raising his own glass to take a sip as he regarded her. “I can’t remember the last time I was more diverted,” he admitted as she felt her chagrin deepen. Whatever must he think of her? His face grew troubled, then, and he stepped a little closer. “Would I be correct in supposing that you are considering an ... elopement?” he asked, his tone very low and confiding.

Violette stared at him in utter shock and shook her head. “N-no,” she stammered, blushing so profusely and feeling so guilty at having been so very obvious that she didn’t doubt he knew she was lying through her teeth.

The duke pursed his lips and watched her, considering. “You know, a special licence is a tricky thing to get,” he mused, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Staring at him in awe Violette’s eyes widened with astonishment. “Oh, your Grace!” she replied. “If my heart wasn’t so fully engaged, I really think I might have married you.”