The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (5 page)

“Have a seat, dear,” Marianne said mildly, “and let Gabby finish.”

Violet hadn’t realized that she’d risen. She sat again, her heart thumping.
Meeting Madame Monique in the flesh. Absolutely brilliant!
Through the years, she’d practiced countless moves inspired by the acrobat; she wondered if the diva would mind giving her some tips.

“… Father wants me to be a success ever so much, but the fact is I’m just a wallflower,” Gabby was saying. “What if nobody deigns to come to my party?”

Understanding suddenly perforated Violet’s delight. Gabby’s father was a banker whose fortune came from clients who were, well, a bit unsavory. In fact, while the Kents adored Gabby, they were not fans of Mr. Billings, whom they’d first met during the course of a murder investigation. With his wealth, Billings could purchase his daughter’s entrée into the upper echelons, but acceptance was another matter altogether.

The banker’s background and lack of blue blood made him and his daughter parvenus in the eyes of the
ton
, who treated them with barely disguised scorn. In fact, some cruel wit had saddled Gabby with the title of “Paper Princess” due to her papa’s trade in banknotes. Like Violet, Gabby knew what it was like to be an outsider.

Vi summoned a teasing grin for her friend. “What are
we
—chestnuts? We Kents will be there in full regalia to support you. Even Thea and Tremont will be coming, although they’ll arrive a bit late.”

Thea, the second eldest Kent sister, had recently married the Marquess of Tremont. Given the adventures that had brought the pair together, they’d opted to spend their honeymoon rusticating at Tremont’s country seat.

“We wouldn’t miss your fete for the world,” Rosie chimed in. “We
adore
parties.”

“Society is agog to see what has been done to Traverstoke since the Earl of Woldier sold it to your father,” Marianne said. “I predict you’ll be bursting at the seams with houseguests, albeit curious ones.”

“I don’t care if they’re curious—only that they
come
. I’m so grateful to all of you. I’m terribly afraid of disappointing Father: he wants so badly for me to make a splash.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” Eyes sparkling with mischief, Rosie said, “Or haven’t you heard about the most recent
splash
in Society?”

Violet’s stomach plummeted.
Crumbs. Not this again.

“You mean Viscount Carlisle?” Gabby said, an odd note in her voice.

Rosie’s golden ringlets bobbed as she nodded, giggling.

“It’s not funny. It isn’t Christian to laugh at another’s misfortune,” Vi blurted.

All eyes turned to her.

Em blinked. “Well, I suppose that’s true. But usually you’re the first one to laugh at the ridiculous, Violet.”

“Carlisle’s not ridiculous. He just slipped and fell…” Violet’s face heated; she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from revealing more.

“I didn’t say
he
was ridiculous, just the fact that a grown man managed to tumble into a fountain.” Emma’s head tipped to the side, her clear brown gaze narrowing. “You weren’t somehow…
involved
in the incident, were you? At the time, we were looking all over for you, and you were nowhere to be found.”

Vi didn’t like the keen look in her sister’s eyes. Before becoming a duchess, Em had aspired to join Kent and Associates, Ambrose’s private enquiry firm. In fact, it was during the course of Em’s first investigation that she had captured Strathaven’s eye and his heart. Even now, with her husband’s permission—and, on occasion, without his knowledge—she participated in the odd case.

Vi tried not to squirm. “Like I said before, I witnessed some of it, but I didn’t linger.”
I hightailed it out of there as fast as I could.
“I just don’t think it’s fair to laugh at the man.”

Marianne’s lips thinned with distaste. “I wouldn’t think you’d defend Carlisle, of all people. After the abominable rumors he started—why, Ambrose had half a mind to call him out.”

“So did Strathaven,” Em said, “but doing so would have damaged Vi’s reputation further. It was best to ignore the whole thing and let it blow over. Which it has, thank heavens. Otherwise His Grace would have had Carlisle’s head on a spike—and I would have encouraged it.”

“You always were a bloodthirsty thing, pet,” a deep masculine voice said.

Strathaven entered the room. He was tall, dark, and wickedly handsome, his debonair image somewhat marred by the dark-haired baby girl in the crook of his arm. With a chubby fist wrapped around one end of His Grace’s cravat, little Olivia tugged with stubborn insistence, cheerfully drooling all the while.

“Speaking of bloodthirsty, Livy is murdering your cravat.” Emma held out her arms. “You’d best give the little imp to me.”

As Strathaven handed over the babe, his knuckles brushed with casual intimacy against his wife’s cheek. “I thought she might be lonely so I got her from the nursery.”

“Lonely? With the army of nursemaids you hired to look after her?” Emma slanted a mischievous look at her husband and said in conspiratorial tones to their daughter, “Who was the lonely one, poppet—you or Papa?”

Livy flashed a toothless grin. An instant later, she grabbed at Emma’s bodice.

“Ma ma ma,” she said.

“By God, she’s
talking
.” Strathaven looked thunderstruck—as if his offspring had just recited a sonnet.

“She’s hungry,” Emma said ruefully. “I had better get Her Highness fed.”

“On that note, Rosie and I must be off as well, or we’ll be late for our fitting.” Marianne rose, her daughter following suit. “We look forward to your party, Gabby.”

The Strathavens and Kents departed, leaving Violet with Polly and Gabby.

“I wish someone would look at me the way His Grace looks at your sister,” Gabby said wistfully into the quiet room.

“He loves her very much,” Polly agreed. “I always knew he did, even before…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“Before what?” Gabby asked.

Seeing her sister’s flustered expression, Vi knew that Polly didn’t want to reveal her uncanny ability to read other people’s emotions. Back in Chudleigh Crest, Polly’s acuity had led others to consider her a bit “strange,” something she feared more than anything.

“Seeing as we Kents always marry for love,” Vi said hastily, “it wasn’t hard to guess that Emma and Strathaven would wind up a love match.”

Polly sent her a grateful look.

“A love match. I see.” Gabby sighed.

An odd pang struck Vi. She’d spoken the truth: Kents did marry for love, and, consequently, she’d been surrounded by passionate couples all her life. Yet why hadn’t
she
encountered love’s magic? She’d spent a good deal of time in the company of boys, but she’d never felt that mysterious—and supposedly irresistible—pull of attraction.

Quite frankly, she’d never understood what all the fuss was about.

Out of nowhere, Carlisle intruded upon her mind’s eye. His stern, rugged features… his large and unyielding physique. Sensation washed over her: the rush of being contained by his rigid strength, his manly scent filling her nose, his breath coasting warmly over her ear…

Gadzooks, what’s the matter with you?
Why are you thinking such things?
Bewildered, she realized that her pulse was racing—as if she’d run a race or climbed a tree.

“I have some bad news to share,” Gabby announced. “About Carlisle.”

Vi twitched. “Um, pardon?”

“He’ll be at my party.”

Butter and jam, Carlisle and I are going to be trapped together in the same house… for an entire
week
?
Horror flooded Vi.

“What is more, Father says that I must be extra nice to him. Nice—after what he said about you, Violet! And I’ve heard that Carlisle is a large, stodgy, and intimidating man.” Gabby shuddered. “Not the sort that I’d want to be nice to
at all
.”

Vi cleared her throat. “Maybe you can avoid him?”
Like I’ll be doing.

“Father will be watching like a hawk. No, I need a better plan—reinforcements.” Gabby brightened. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Polly said at once. “What do you want us to do?”

“If you see me with him, you must come rescue me,” Gabby pleaded. “Promise me you will? Pinkie swear on it?”

“What are friends for?” Polly hooked her little finger with Gabby’s.

“Violet?” Gabby’s eyes beseeched her.

Parsnips. This’ll be interesting.

She muttered, “All right,” and sealed the vow.

Chapter Four

Passing the magnificent black iron gates that marked the sprawling lands of Traverstoke, Richard was not in the best of moods. To him, the prospect of being confined in a house for a sennight with several dozen party guests was only slightly preferable to being drawn and quartered. His chest burned as he thought of the ridicule he’d faced in the two weeks since his run-in with Violet Kent.

If anyone dares to bring the subject up…

His gloved hands fisted at his sides. He told himself that the latest gossip—Lady Esterby running off with her groom—had surpassed that concerning his stupid dip in the fountain. He was old news, and anyone who disagreed would answer directly to him.

The carriage jostled its way down a majestic oak-lined drive toward the main house, glimpses of fields and woods appearing between the ancient trunks. Richard made himself focus on the business at hand. He was here to settle Wickham’s future—and perhaps his own. He would approach the party as he would any unpleasant obligation.

The manor came into view, and its grandeur lifted Richard from his brooding. By Jove, Traverstoke was a jewel of a country house. Built of golden Cotswold stone, it struck a kingly profile against the dull February sky. As the carriage rounded the circular drive, which had a grand fountain featuring Triton and a pair of sea nymphs at its center, Richard took in the imposing Palladian entrance of the main building.

Six carved columns held up a pediment worthy of a Roman temple. The large central edifice was flanked by two narrower buildings. The wings extended back farther than the main house, creating, Richard guessed, what must be an ample courtyard. He glimpsed a small wooden dome at the end of one of the wings—the highly touted amphitheatre, no doubt.

Richard shook his head, baffled. He couldn’t imagine being that plump in the pockets. The things he’d do with such funds… the list of improvements that his estate required was a mile long.

His carriage stopped behind a line of other conveyances. He saw the host and his daughter greeting new arrivals at the foot of the grand staircase leading into the house. The latter, Richard saw with a sigh, was short and plump, dressed in a gown that reminded him of an overly decorated cake. Her bonnet was even fussier with floral protrusions that could take a man’s eye out.

Then Richard saw something else that wiped all thoughts of his hostess from his mind. He yanked open the door and jumped to the ground. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he stalked toward the fountain where Wickham stood—
flirting
with bloody Violet Kent.

They made quite the stunning couple, he noted grimly. Young, modern, and charismatic, they were sharing some private joke that made onlookers want to be in on it, to be part of the charming warmth they shared. They turned at his approach, and their laughter faded. Instantly, he felt like an outsider, old and taciturn compared to the dazzling duo.

Miss Kent was dressed in a travelling ensemble the color of her given name. Her carriage dress had those billowing sleeves which looked absurd on most ladies, but she managed to carry them off, Richard noted reluctantly, because she was above average height for a female. The frock also had a saucy buckled belt that drew the eye to her slender waist. From there, the flare of the skirts obscured her slim hips, the bottom he knew to be pert and firm by the way it had wriggled against his—

Devil and damn, man. Concentrate.

He gave a cutting bow. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Miss Kent.”

“My lord.” Beneath the brim of her canary silk bonnet, her tawny eyes were wary. They darted to the right, where—of course—the bleeding fountain stood.

Heat lashed his cheekbones.

“Carlisle.” Wickham made an elegant leg. “I was wondering when you would arrive.”

“Wondering or worried?” Richard said caustically.

“Now why would I be worried?”

Because you’re destroying your future, and you know I won’t let you do it. I won’t let you get ensnared by the likes of Violet Kent.

Richard scanned the crowd. He jerked his chin subtly toward the thin and colorless miss standing by a richly outfitted barouche. “Have you paid your respects to Miss Turbett yet?”

Thunderclouds descended upon Wickham’s brow. His chin rose to a mutinous angle.

It was Miss Kent who spoke. “By Golly, do you always issue orders upon first arrival?” she said smartly. “Can’t you at least wait until the bags are unloaded?”

Fury, already smoldering, ignited in Richard. He faced her, her boldness making his blood burn. “I’ll thank you not to interfere with business that does not concern you, Miss Kent.”

“That’s ironic, isn’t it? Seeing as how you were just telling Wick how to run his life.”

His jaw clenched. “He’s my brother. He’ll be guided by me.”

“Like a dashed horse? Wick is his own man. You ought to let him do as he pleases.”

“And you ought to stop trifling with him.” The words were filtered through his teeth, if not his brain. Through the haze of anger, he registered that Wick had slipped away. Bloody coward. Well, he would deal with his brother later—after he dealt with this recalcitrant little flirt.

“For crumpet’s sake, I’m not trifling with him. He is my
friend
,” she insisted.

“Your
petit ami
perhaps,” he said scornfully.

Her cheeks flushed. “Not all of us have that… that lovey-dovey nonsense on our brains, you know. I don’t even understand what that fuss is all about!”

That startled him momentarily. A coquette like her didn’t understand that…
fuss
? Surely, she was being coy—playing one of her little games.