But then Robert’s father had elected to send him away to the Colonies and everything had changed. With Robert gone, the chaos that had once been Henry’s life had gradually settled. He’d slowly begun examining his own future, and after taking one look at his father’s ledgers, he’d realized he needed to act. Debts had to be paid and an income secured. The Red Rose had been born from a need to do both and was now one of the most popular venues in London.
Henry sighed. Experience shaped a person’s character. While pushing himself toward success had been hard at times, he’d had his family and friends to support him. Robert, on the other hand, had been stuck halfway around the world with a wife he hadn’t cared for and who hadn’t cared for him. It couldn’t have been easy. But to come back and accuse Viola of dishonesty, to drag her before a judge in an effort to void the will his father had written, seemed a bit much. Especially since Henry couldn’t for the life of him align the woman he knew with the one Robert described.
Which could only mean there was more to this rift between Robert and Viola than Robert had revealed. The sort of bitterness lacing his words as he’d spoken had to be rooted in longstanding conflict. And that made sense when Henry considered the way Viola had reacted when Henry had told her Robert was his friend. She’d clenched her hands together while molding her mouth into firm disapproval.
Whatever had happened between them went beyond her marrying his father and securing the Tremaine fortune for herself. Henry was certain of it and decided to investigate further. Because if there was one thing he knew without any doubt whatsoever, it was that trouble had landed on Viola’s doorstep and that she would soon need all the help she could get.
Chapter 8
The six gowns Gabriella and Amelia had sent to Viola’s home for her to pick from were the most exquisite she’d ever seen. Unfortunately, none of them fit, and by the time Viola had gotten around to trying them on, it was too late to make alterations. Which meant she was stuck wearing cotton instead of silk.
At least the hem had a ruffle, but as she stood in front of the mirror studying herself, she wasn’t sure it would help counterbalance the mundane color of beech-tree gray. A sigh escaped her. She hadn’t been planning to venture out into Society when she’d ordered it. She’d been imagining an event that would require equal parts practicality and respectability.
“We could try pinning one of the other gowns instead of actually sewing it,” Harriet suggested when she came to check on Viola’s progress. “It might look quite nice if we do it discreetly.”
“There isn’t time,” Viola said with a quick glance at the clock. The Huntleys were due to arrive in five minutes to pick her up.
“I have a colorful bead necklace you’re welcome to borrow,” Diana said as she came to join them. “It’s not very costly but it’s pleasing to the eye.”
“Thank you,” Viola told her friend. She grabbed a burgundy shawl, which at least added some degree of color, and wrapped it around her shoulders. “But the truth is I do not mind what I’m wearing so terribly much.” She gave a shrug. “I feel comfortable in it.”
“Being comfortable and looking good aren’t always the same thing,” Harriet argued. “One must occasionally sacrifice one in favor of the other.”
“That shouldn’t be necessary,” Viola told her. She exited her room with her friends close behind her and began descending the stairs.
“It often is when one is trying to attract a man’s interest,” Diana said at her back.
“Then it is a good thing I’m not doing any such thing.” Arriving in the foyer, Viola turned to smile at Diana and Harriet. Neither looked even remotely convinced.
“So then you intend to heed our advice and avoid Mr. Lowell’s attentions?” Diana asked.
“By having dinner with him,” Harriet added.
Viola glanced at the door and hoped the Huntleys would soon arrive to save her from this conversation. “I am having dinner with a few acquaintances of mine. The fact that Mr. Lowell happens to own the club where we shall be dining is inconsequential.”
A knock at the door announced that the carriage had arrived.
“I think she’s delusional,” Viola heard Harriet saying as she exited her home.
“Without a doubt,” was Diana’s response as the door closed firmly behind her.
Perhaps they were right, but Viola was starting to think they’d misjudged Mr. Lowell’s character as poorly as she and the rest of Society. Especially if what he said was true and he had indeed fabricated every salacious rumor himself. It seemed unfathomable, but so did the prospect of him turning out to be every bit the dangerous rake he was purported to be.
The problem was, he was simply too nice.
“What happened to the gowns we sent you?” Gabriella whispered close to Viola’s ear as they walked toward The Red Rose’s entrance later.
“Apparently you and Amelia are not the same size or shape as me,” Viola whispered back while deliberately lifting her chin and straightening her spine. She would not be pitied by anyone—least of all by Mr. Lowell. “So I am wearing the only good dress I have, even though I am perfectly aware that it’s not very fashionable or appropriate for an evening such as this.”
At least the neckline was a little bit lower than the ones on the nurse’s gowns she wore most days. The hint of skin it revealed made her feel less frumpy than if it had reached all the way to her neck.
“The truth is you do not need extravagant gowns to look pretty, Viola. I actually think the cut you’re wearing suits you exceedingly well,” Gabriella told her.
“You don’t consider the color too bland?”
“It agrees with your complexion and fails to distract from your natural beauty.”
And then they were walking through the arched doorway to the club, where a man who introduced himself as Mr. Faulkner stood ready to greet them. He sent a servant to inform Mr. Lowell of their arrival before helping the ladies off with their cloaks and taking the gentlemen’s hats.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!”
The masculine voice speaking with confidence at her back announced Mr. Lowell’s arrival. Tearing her gaze away from the stunning decor of the dining room she could glimpse from the foyer, Viola turned to face him. And almost lost her balance when the tip of her slipper caught the hem of her dress.
Lowell rushed forward and caught her by the elbow, steadying her with a friendly laugh. “I’m glad to see my establishment still has the power to shock people into losing their footing.”
Viola’s cheeks heated, though not from embarrassment. On the contrary, her sudden state of disconcertment had everything to do with Lowell’s appearance and the touch of his hand. Because as handsome as he’d been while confined to his cot at the hospital and the two times she’d happened upon him since, nothing could have prepared her for how dashing he looked tonight in his evening attire. It clung to his broad shoulders and tall frame, matching the shade of his hair to perfection.
“Your Grace,” he murmured, removing his hand from her elbow to leave a cool spot in its place.
He smiled with boyish amusement, eyes gleaming with pure excitement. And then his gaze lowered ever so slightly to the bare expanse of skin above her neckline. It lasted but a second, so quick no one else would notice. But when he raised his eyes to her face once more, Viola’s breath caught in her throat, for there was no denying this man had scandalous thoughts where she was concerned.
Thoughts he hid very well by calmly adding, “It is lovely to see you again.”
Turning away, he greeted the rest of the party while Viola tried to gather her wits. Her body tingled in anticipation of spending the rest of the evening with him. This was madness! How could her common sense let her crave this man’s attention so, in spite of her every intention to resist it?
Yet here she was with him now offering her his arm. As the only unattached woman, she could not refuse. Nor did she want to. So she placed her hand carefully where it belonged, acknowl
edged the flutter in the pit of her belly for what it was, and allowed him to lead her into the restaurant.
“You look incredible, by the way,” Mr. Lowell murmured while steering her between a few tables. “Utterly delectable.”
His voice was warm and smooth—seductive in its softness. A flare of heat rushed over her skin. “Thank you,” she managed, even though she was sure he was just being polite. “You look quite dashing yourself.”
“Why, Mrs. Cartwright. I do believe you may be warming toward me.” His voice was light with amusement, yet filled with immeasurable pleasure.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet,” she warned in a tone meant to tease, for the truth of the matter was, she had yet to see any evidence of a man who did not deserve her friendship or respect.
They reached their table and he pulled out a chair so she could take her seat while Amelia and Gabriella took theirs. And then Lowell sat down beside her. His shoulder brushed hers as he shifted, sending a dart of heat straight down her middle. Viola sucked in a breath and held it, determined to regain her composure. But doing so was difficult when the heavenliest scent of sandalwood emanated from his person.
Thankfully, Mr. Faulkner distracted her by handing out menus. Viola accepted hers with thanks and the gratitude she felt at being able to ignore Mr. Lowell for the time it took her to study it. Except it occurred to her, as she opened the leather-bound folio, that she wouldn’t be able to read what it said without the use of her spectacles. And she’d deliberately left those at home with no intention of embodying the long-sighted bluestocking this evening. Which left her with a bit of a predicament.
Considering her options, she decided she had only one, which was to ask for help. She glanced at Coventry first. He sat to her right, but was turned slightly away while he spoke to Amelia.
Bracing herself, Viola drew a deep breath and addressed Mr. Lowell. “Is there anything particular you can recommend?”
He leaned slightly closer and held his menu up higher, offering them a little seclusion from the rest of the group. Viola’s pulse quickened. “The oysters are especially tasty if you are in the mood for an appetizer.” His breath caressed her cheek in a way that caused tiny embers to dance across her shoulders. “Or perhaps the onion soup?”
Viola drew a deep breath. “I’m afraid I am not very fond of oysters. Or onion soup.” She hesitated briefly before asking, “What else is there?”
He paused before saying, “There’s pickled herring and caviar. Smoked salmon if you prefer.”
She gave her own menu a quick glance. It appeared as if there was much more than that, only she could not read it.
Biting her lip, she made some pretense of considering her options before asking, “How about the meats?”
“The roast pork is one of my favorites. Either that or the lamb.”
She stared at the blurry writing before her. “Hmm . . . don’t you have any fowl?” She froze, realizing her mistake the second the words left her mouth.
“Well yes,” he said as if nothing was amiss. “Right there.” He ran his finger down part of the page.
Viola tried not to squint. Instead she nodded as if she was perfectly aware of what he was showing her. “Those are some very appealing options,” she said, hoping to stop him from suspecting a thing.
“This oven-baked chicken with glazed carrots and mushroom sauce is really good,” he said. “You see it? It’s right there.” He pointed to a specific spot on the page.
Viola nodded. “Yes, I see it.” She stared at the menu as if studying it more closely. “Chicken is perfect. Thank you, Mr. Lowell.”
“You’re very welcome, aside from the fact that we do not serve chicken. The dish you just agreed to order is pheasant.” He raised one hand and gestured for Mr. Faulkner to approach. Then, in a very low whisper, he said, “Please bring me my spectacles. They’re on top of my desk.”
He’d seen right through her. Viola stared down at the edge of the table while coming to terms with the fact that her secret was out. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it exactly, for although she thought spectacles ruined her appearance, she rather liked knowing that Mr. Lowell needed them too.
“I hope you’re not troubling your steward on my account, Mr. Lowell,” she said, needing to fill the ensuing silence between them.
“On the contrary, I did it for myself.” He moved his head even closer to hers and quietly murmured. “I imagine a pair of spectacles will suit you tremendously, Viola.”
For reasons she couldn’t explain, his tone painted an image of her wearing nothing else. It was most provocative and inappropriate and not at all what she wanted. And yet her bodice grew suddenly tight, reminding her of a similar experience she’d had five years earlier. She’d surrendered to desire back then and it had been a terrible mistake.
“Then you would be wrong, Mr. Lowell.” The way Robert had made her feel once—small and insignificant—echoed through her. “Spectacles draw attention to my eyes.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” he asked while a waiter poured wine in their glasses. “You have lovely eyes, Viola. They remind me of raindrops on a windowpane.”
“On a dull day,” she added.
Mr. Faulkner returned at that moment and discreetly handed the spectacles to Mr. Lowell. “Why must it be dull?” he asked after thanking Mr. Faulkner. “I think it is a matter of perspective, don’t you?”
She wasn’t so sure. A rainy day with clouds blocking out the sun was not the most uplifting. To have her eyes compared to such a thing did not make her feel particularly pretty or eager to don a pair of spectacles.
And yet, as much as she tried to avoid asking the question, she couldn’t resist for long. “How do you mean?”
He positioned the menu before them just so, and held the spectacles in front of her eyes. “There is nothing more invigorating than striding through the rain and feeling the cool splash of water against my skin. There is also nothing more soothing than listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops as they fall against the windows. While some might find it dreary, it reminds me that even though most days are calm and unremarkable, nature is filled with powerful emotion.”
Although the spectacles allowed her to see, Viola hadn’t been able to concentrate on what was written on the page in front of her. Mr. Lowell’s words had distracted her completely. “You’re right, I suppose. Rain does have its merits even though I have always preferred when it’s sunny. It brings out the color in the world and makes everything so much brighter.”
He chuckled low, the rich timbre whirling around her and heating her skin. “I will agree that such days are pleasing in a different way.”
Alerted by the pointedness with which he spoke, she instinctively darted a look in his direction. Their eyes met, and her heart shuddered while a gust of awareness blew over her skin.
“You might not like the color of your eyes, Viola, but to me they’re perfect because they’re different. What you may consider uninteresting, I see as filled with intelligence and mystery. Your eyes are those of a woman whose mind intrigues me—a woman I wish to spend time with. Which is why I asked you to join me this evening.”
Undone by his words, Viola’s every apprehension about keeping his company melted away. She liked him too well—so well she was already wondering when she might see him again. “I did not want to come,” she told him honestly. She’d been afraid. Afraid of how he would make her feel—afraid of wanting more than what was wise and afraid of eventually getting hurt. “But I am glad I did. Your club is beautiful, Mr. Lowell, and you are proving to be more than I ever expected.”
“I trust that’s a good thing?” Hope shimmered in the depths of his coffee-colored eyes.
She could not stop the heat creeping into her cheeks or the flurry of nerves squeezing her belly, but she could provide him with an honest answer. “I believe it’s a very good thing, Mr. Lowell.”
Appreciation warmed his features and made him look even more handsome than
seconds before, which was something Viola would not have thought possible.
“Are you ready to place your orders?” Mr. Faulkner asked. He’d returned to their table without Viola noticing, his words scattering her thoughts like autumn leaves carried away on a breeze.
Mr. Lowell lowered the menu and closed it, reminding Viola that they weren’t alone but that they were seated together with four other people. How on earth could she have forgotten that? Slightly dazed, she listened while Mr. Lowell inquired about everyone’s preferences, advised on a few different options and conveyed the final choices to Mr. Faulkner. He ordered smoked salmon and pheasant on Viola’s behalf and then the menus were handed back to Mr. Faulkner, who quickly vanished once more.
“Thank you for inviting us here this evening,” Huntley said as he raised his glass and saluted Mr. Lowell. “It was an excellent idea.”
“I’ve been trying to convince him to come here for a while,” Coventry said. He lifted his own glass while the rest of the party followed suit, cheering the fine establishment and wishing Mr. Lowell continued success with it.
“I regret to admit that it hasn’t been a priority,” Huntley said. “There have been a lot of other things for me to see to for the past couple of years.”
Viola could well imagine. He’d risen from poverty when he’d inherited his title. Moving from St. Giles to Mayfair with his two sisters and having to learn how to navigate high society must have been an extraordinary challenge.
“You needn’t explain,” Mr. Lowell said. “I completely understand.” He gave his attention to Amelia. “You’ve been at least as busy as your brother. Tell me, how is your school doing these days?”
“It is thriving,” Amelia said. Wanting to help the poor children of St. Giles receive a proper education, she’d bought a house on the edge of the slum and turned it into a place of learning. “We did have a bit of a setback last year with the typhus outbreak, but we’ve since made up for the time we lost when we were forced to close.”
The Infamous Duchess Page 10