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The Viscount’s Victress:
Scandalous Nobility I
By: Madeline St. James
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Table of Contents
Victress of the Viscount
About the Author
Where to Read More From Madeline St. James & Get Free Books
Victress of the Viscount
Chapter One
Cavendish Square, London
June 1814
The weather was fine and the sun streamed in through the shop windows. Marina Clarke grazed her elegant fingers against the new bolts of fabric that were delivered that morning. A few of the noblewomen and their servants were placing orders for new gowns. Marina kept her gaze low and answered their questions with the grace and respect that was expected in the presence of women of well repute.
Despite her best efforts, the noblewomen snickered behind her back and mocked her. While Marina did not judge those who were content with living the lifestyle of a vase of flowers, she didn’t want to be just a pretty object on a shelf. She enjoyed her hard work and despised that embarrassed heat grew upon her freckled cheeks.
Marina was well aware that most ladies of London favored unblemished skin and porcelain complexions, but she was comfortable with her “scarcely acceptable” features. People saw her blonde, unfashionably long hair as some sort of insult. Short, curly hair was all she ever saw around the city. One of the ladies spoke in a sharp voice, pulling Marina from her distracted thoughts.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to assist us?” the woman sneered. “I am speaking to you, girl.”
“Sorry, Miss. Right away, Miss.”
“You will address me as Miss Bond or nothing at all. Do we understand each other?” Miss Bond hissed.
“Yes, Miss Bond.”
“Good. My companion and I are looking to purchase one of your gowns for an upcoming social. But if your services are any indication of your talents as a seamstress, I believe we will take our business elsewhere.”
“Apologies, Miss Bond.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but nevertheless, Marina stayed her tongue when all she wanted to do was return their rudeness in kind. “You would like a French white satin slip with blond lace and pearl trimming. An ornate short robe with the same pearl trimmings, crape long sleeves, and a short waist.”
“Perhaps you were paying attention after all. Next time, do not allow your frail little mind to wonder,” Miss Bond retorted. The other noblewoman laughter dramatically in response, and Marina’s anger flared. What makes them better than me? Money and reputation are not everything. A strong character and sharp mind go a long way…
Miss Bond rudely snapped her fingers in front of Marina’s face. “It’s like carrying on a conversation with a bird, hoping the thing doesn’t fly away. If the other ladies were not so fond of your gowns, I would not tolerate this. But let this serve as a warning, Marina. I will be informing the more respectable women of your discourtesy.”
“Beg forgiveness, Miss Bond.”
The ladies completed their orders soon after. All the while, Marina held her head high and kept the tears that prickled against her eyes at bay. She was humiliated by their cavalier words, but she refused to let them see her cry. Even as they barked their unrealistic orders, she kept herself calm.
Once they were out of sight and lost in the crowd that cluttered the bustling streets beyond the windows, she gracelessly flopped down onto her stool with a heavy sigh. It was a tight deadline, but she could finish them with a few sleepless nights. She had done it before, and was confident in her ability to make stunning dresses that showcased her artful skills as a practiced seamstress.
And while her experience came from working in the back of dusty old shops, Marina was grateful for the chance to learn a trade while most girls her age and economic status were found in less savory practices. She let out a little yawn and stretched. Marina often rose well before the sun to attend to her duties. Sleep did not come easy for her no matter how fatigued her muscles were by the end of the day.
She went to sweep the floors when she came across an envelope. Marina picked up the small package and investigated its contents. Inside was an entrance ticket to a ball, hosted at the assembly rooms. The date matched the deadline for the gowns that the two snobbish patrons had just ordered. A wicked smile curved on Marina’s face as her blue eyes took on a cunning glimmer.
What if…No, she shouldn’t even consider going to the ball. Her hands trembled as she folded the ticket into the small pocket of her dress. She should run after the ladies or their servants and return it to them, but her pride convinced her to stay put.
The instant the shopkeeper Mrs. Winslow entered the shop and the tiny bell above the door chimed, Marina rushed to her workspace in the back room. She crouched over her station and began assembling the intricate gowns on the order list. There were several that she could complete within the day, but the four most recent orders would likely take a week’s time each. Marina sighed once more and continued working.
When the sunlight faded beyond the skyline and the shop was washed in darkness, her eyes struggled to see the small stitching she worked on. She reached over and lit the oil lamp she used break up the shadows in the tiny room. “Better,” she mumbled aloud.
Absentmindedly, Marina’s hand kept reaching for the ticket tucked away in her pocket. As she sat working diligently on the gowns, Marina weaved an enchanting illusion of the ball itself. She pictured the grandeur, elegance, and uppity attitudes. I could teach them a lesson and show them that anyone could play their part in society. How hard could it be?
Very hard. She could barely keep her words to herself most days, so falling into the shoes of a noblewoman would result much more tripping than she was willing to endure. Marina was humiliated enough on a daily basis. Why would she even contemplate putting herself into a position to be embarrassed beyond all reason? It would be a disaster. But there was a part of her that yearned to be one of them. She wanted to live in their world, if only for one night to prove to them that she was worthy of their attention.
Right then, Marina made a decision. She would attend the ball... but not as herself. No good could come of her using her identity. She needed to spin a web of façades that could rival their own. She did not want her false identity to seem too important that she might be recognized as an imposter, but not so obscure that the attendees would wonder why she was there. Eventually she settled on the title, “Lady Leliana Gray.” It sounded nice, even natural to say it out loud. Her only fear was that her lies would prove too suitable to resist. She did not want to lose herself in the fantasy of their glittering world. But she knew in her heart that that process had already begun, as Marina set aside her orders and began crafting her own gown.
She wanted to fashion a beautiful statement piece to bring out the vivid hues of blue in her eyes. Her nimble fingers built a simple, yet fashionable silhouette with an embellished hemline of French knots, beading, and
trims of lace.
Marina draped the fabric across her body to ensure that it fit properly. The overdress was made of a combination of delicate muslin. Some of the other various materials were expensive...too expensive for her wages, but Marina figured that after the ball was over she could simply sell the gown. No one would be the wiser. Either that, or she would be fired for thievery and put out on the streets. Still, she could hardly contain her excitement.
Marina was independent and headstrong to a fault, but she was not unwilling to take a risk. If she wanted to see her plan through to the end, she would need to adapt her mannerisms and way of thinking. She needed to blend in with nobility. Marina didn’t have long to learn, but she would try.
A smile ghosted upon her lips as she envisioned herself swept away by the music and the dancing, but the happiness of her daydream was soon chased by the knowledge that it would all be a lie. There was the possibility that everyone else at the ball would be pretending to be someone else as well. Marina had seen the subtle hints of uncertainty and self-consciousness in the eyes of many a nobleman.
Although she had never had the privilege of speaking with a man of higher society for more than a passing moment, she was eager to witness the courting practices up close. It would be foolish to think that anyone at the ball would fancy her, of course. But the sight of so many ladies pining for a gentleman’s attention would be entertaining enough to distract Marina from her own loneliness. Love was something she did not want. It was a weakness she could not afford in the harsh reality of her life.
She was forever destined to be “less than”. But if, for one night only, Marina could see the universe through their eyes, she would take it. It might turn out to be the biggest mistake of her entire life, or a night to remember. Not many people in her place got the opportunity to peek beyond the veil. The ticket on the floor was a sign of fate.
Marina decided she was meant to go to the ball and she had a feeling that it would change her life forever. Lady Leliana Gray would dance until her feet hurt, leave a trail of broken hearts in her wake, and would have fun for once. Whatever came of this wondrous mistake would be worth whatever regrets that were sure to follow.
Chapter Two
Viscount Estate
Oxfordshire, England
Percival Knight, Viscount of Greenwood, blinked open his green-blue eyes and brushed a silken lock of brown hair from his forehead. The previous night had been filled with decadence that he hoped would not come to an end. He knew how to play the game as well as anyone...not that anyone would admit that there was a game at all. But that was the point.
Members of his nobility coveted misguided insinuations, circumbendibus answers, and artfully mastered subtleties that were meant to entertain just as much as they were intended to slight one’s reputation. It was a deadly dance of push and shove that, on the surface, went no further than an amicable chat. But if one should falter even a single step in that delicate dance, a lifetime of careful planning could come crashing down. One never knew what could shake the foundation of social society.
Percival agreed only to attend the social after his mother insisted that it would be the night that he happened upon a lovely lady of nobility. But he was no fool. Percival was aware that his mother interviewed nearly every eligible lady in England in hopes of arranging a marriage contract. If only there was someone worthy of me, he thought with a crooked grin.
Some would say that his confidence was a foible, but Percival considered himself to be utterly flawless. He was perfect, as many women and men alike would agree. His prominent jawline, pointed nose, and traditionally handsome features were only surpassed by his infectious personality.
Over the course of his six and twenty years of existence, Percival had gone through his fair share of aristocratic courtships. None of which had developed into anything significant, much to his mother’s disdain. But with his exceptional looks, title, and reputation, he doubted his mother would find someone he would deem suitable as a companion. He was a difficult gentleman, and he took pride in that fact. He wanted to get to know someone before becoming betrothed. Was that so wrong?
Forever under the watchful gaze of society and their proper chaperones, it was nearly impossible to steal a moment of a lady’s time away from prying eyes. He was arrogant, not docile. While he was often the shining example of social etiquette, Percival absolutely despised the standards of a respectable courtship.
He would always abide by them, of course, but he longed for a meaningful conversation that was not hidden beneath the guise of pleasantries and dancing. He wanted to be treated like a person and not like a prized horse. Although he adored the admiration and recognition, Percival did not want to be shown off or used as leverage for someone else’s rise in status.
Lady Charity Belfour seemed to have taken an interest in him as of late. It was obvious in her lingering glances, and the way she distracted all the other ladies away from Percival in the assembly rooms. He was flattered by her slight interferences, but also found her irritatingly obtuse.
Lady Charity Belfour was often bold and at the heart of many of the scandals plaguing and intriguing aristocracy. He liked that she was not afraid to speak her mind, but also disappointed in how quickly the spark of her inner fire was dampened by her sense of propriety. She retained little damage to her reputation compared to the way the average lady would have been dragged through the mud. Percival could not help but to wonder why.
He understood she had hailed from a wealthy Scottish family, but that was all he knew, outside of the rumors. She seemed kind, and almost as reluctant to attend social gatherings as he. Pity. He could use someone a bit more social than himself to ease the pressure of attending gatherings.
A sharp knock on his bedchamber door had Percival grunting unintelligibly. “You may enter,” he called. Within seconds, his valet stepped into the room. Percival shuffled across the floor to sit so that Luther could shave him, tidy his hair, and go through the day’s wardrobe.
Once he was dressed in his finely tailored muslin shirts, pantaloons, waistcoat, and polished tall boots, Percival looked less like the average, arrogant aristocratic gentlemen and more like the Viscount his title implied. Luther helped him pull on the single-breasted jacket that pulled the ensemble together. Percival appreciated his appearance in the mirror as he reflected on his responsibilities for the day.
His schedule included tea with his mother in the garden, overseeing new proposals in the judicial systems of the court, and regulating the finances of the estate. All in all, it was a predictable and uneventful day. Percival made his way out to the gardens where his mother sat patiently, ever the vision of elegance.
Her short, curly locks held the same hue of brown as his own. Percival resembled his mother more in adulthood than he ever had in his youth. They shared the same green-blue eyes and regal features. He adored the way her gaze lit up when she spotted him, a kind smile ghosting across her face.
Percival kissed his mother’s hand and took a seat across from her. Birds chirped in the trees as the sun continued to rise. The fragrant scent of the garden filled the air, fascinating the senses.
“I hope you slept well, Percival,” his mother greeted. “We have much to discuss in regards to your prospects of engagement before the coming Season. Do listen closely, dear.”
“Must we discuss the Season at all, Mother? Forgive me for my moment of indecorum, but I do not believe marriage is right for me. My status and title do not come from our lineage, nor does it come from a dowry of matrimony. I was appointed my position by the monarchy and I believe I will still hold it whether I wed a lady of nobility or not.”
“Which is precisely why you must!” she hissed. “If your title is revoked, we lose everything, Percival. We would lose our estate, our financial stability, our reputations…everything. Do you truly wish your mother to be reduced to a common woman?”
“Were you not only a single rank above a common woman before I was appointed?” Perciva
l hadn’t meant the venom behind his words. He regretted them as soon as the look of hurt and betrayal appeared on his mother’s lovely face.
Elisabeth Knight was a strong lady with a tongue that could cut deeper than any blade. “You disappoint me, Percival. More so, you wound me with your words of contempt. I hope you feel accomplished for adulterating my pure and unselfish aspiration to be a grandmother.”
“If you are doing this for the progress and perseverance of our family, then I shall consider it. But your talk of status and financial stability makes it seem as though you value your lifestyle of wealth over the wishes and wellbeing of your own son,” Percival lowered his gaze and reached out to gently touch his hand to his mothers, but she flinched away from his gesture.
He swallowed past his own disappointment and took his leave without another word. Another thing they had in common was their determination and stubbornness. If his mother was unwilling to consider the possibility that he could maintain their livelihoods on his own, then he would not consider the possibilities of a marriage contract.
Sure, his actions were juvenile. He recognized that, but acknowledgment did not stop Percival from retreating to his office and slamming the door in his wake. He paced back and forth across the polished oak floors and shook his head in shame.
Percival hated how easy it was for his mother to turn her smile of adoration into a sneer of disapproval the instant he disagreed with her. He understood upholding tradition, but he wished that it were not at the price of his happiness.
***
Marina huffed out a tired breath and scratched delicately behind her ear. She heard the bell above the door chime and set her cleaning rag aside before wiping her hands off on her apron. Beatrice Haddington, the young girl who often trailed after Marina as though she was a lost puppy, walked into the shop. Her youthful energy was refreshing, and Marina appreciated the young woman's admiration.
The Viscount's Victress (Scandalous Nobility Book 1) Page 1