“I beg your pardon?”
“Have another sip of yer coffee, Lowell, and try not to be so shocked.”
Henry raised his eyebrows but did as Guthrie suggested. How could he not be shocked when Carlton Guthrie, the Scoundrel of St. Giles and London’s most notorious crime lord, was presently suggesting a collaboration between them.
“I don’t follow. What do you stand to gain?”
Guthrie sighed as if bored with the notion of having to explain. “Suffice it to say that I feel indebted to ye and yer brother. Ye took out my greatest rival last year. With Bartholomew gone, I can finally rule St. Giles in peace.”
“You fancy yourself the king of sin, do you?”
“If ye like,” Guthrie said with a grin. “But that’s besides the point, I believe. Thing is, Tremaine’s a right bastard who deserves to rot in hell fer the rest of his days, and ye, Mr. Lowell, can make sure that ’appens.”
Astonishment was too mild a word to describe what Henry was presently feeling in response to Guthrie’s words. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, ’e’s a murderer, ye know. The coldest sort there is.”
“What?”
Leaning back in his seat, Guthrie shifted his weight as if trying to make himself more comfortable. His face conveyed no hint of the morbid subject he’d just addressed. Instead, he looked like a man about to embark on a great adventure.
“Five years ago,” Guthrie began, “I was doin’ me nightly rounds of St. Giles, makin’ sure all was in order an’ such, when I ’eard a scream. I ran in the direction from which it came to discover a young woman lyin’ in the street. She’d been stabbed, an’ the man who’d done it ’ad taken off. Probably because ’e heard me comin’.”
A chill swept the length of Henry’s spine. He dreaded where this was going because he already knew.
“The job was sloppy, accomplished in ’aste,” Guthrie said. “The woman was still alive when I reached ’er, though barely. Before she died, she did manage to tell me ’er name, though, as well as that of the man who attacked ’er.” Guthrie took a sip of his coffee and set it aside with infuriating slowness. “Olivia Jones was killed that night by Tremaine, but ’e left the country before I could figure out ’ow to bring charges against ’im.”
“Because he was a duke’s son and you are Carlton Guthrie. It would have been your word against his, and with a good barrister on his side, you never would have succeeded.”
“Quite the contrary, I imagine.”
Henry nodded. “What makes you think this information will bring him down now?”
“I don’t,” Guthrie said. “I’m just tryin’ to explain my reason fer wantin’ to ’elp ye. So if there’s anythin’ ye need, do let me know.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Henry said, even though he had no plan of taking Guthrie up on his offer. After all, Henry was trying to save his own reputation, not make it worse by taking the risk of being associated with Carlton Guthrie. As it was, Henry could only hope that no one had seen Guthrie arrive at his home.
“Thank ye fer the coffee, Mr. Lowell.” Guthrie stood and put on his hat.
Henry stood as well and followed his guest to the door. “You’re most welcome. In fact, it is I who ought to be thanking you. The information you’ve given me this evening may prove more useful than you think.”
The edge of Guthrie’s mouth lifted. “I ’ope so, Lowell.”
As soon as he was gone, Henry went to his office, took a seat behind his desk and pulled out a piece of crisp white paper. He then dipped his quill in the inkwell and started to write, because if what Guthrie said was true, then there was a chance Henry might be right about Beatrice Cartwright. If Robert had killed her as well, then surely there must be some evidence of it, even if it meant Henry had to post a letter to the West Indies in order to find it.
Chapter 15
The next three days went by in a blur. Viola saw nothing of Mr. Lowell during this time. But that didn’t stop her from hearing about him. Not after an article he’d written appeared in the Mayfair Chronicle Wednesday morning announcing his intention to marry. The headline read, “London’s Most Notorious Rake Reforms.” The piece claimed he had every intention of being faithful to his future bride and that his youthful days of carousing were officially over.
Viola wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the news. Perhaps she’d made a mistake when she’d refused his escort. Perhaps doing so had made him abandon all hope of eventually winning her. Perhaps he’d deliberately had the article published because she’d hurt him and he was now looking to find someone else to marry. Announcing his intentions to the world was certainly an effective way of hastening the process.
She spent the rest of the day regretting the way they’d last parted and hoping he might come to call. When he didn’t, she sent him a note Wednesday afternoon asking him if there was any news from Mr. Steadford. He responded by note as well, informing her that the barrister had located and interviewed some of Viola’s former servants and that the result was encouraging.
The missive contained no other information. No personal comment to suggest he had any interest in what she was doing. It left her feeling more alone than ever before. Because the truth was, she missed him, and she had no one besides herself to blame for the emptiness now consuming her chest.
Not knowing how to handle this unpleasant state of being, Viola busied herself with her work. One of her best physicians, Mr. Haines, proved tremendously helpful, advising her as Florian so often did about the treatment options for the newly admitted patients.
“Are you feeling all right?” Diana asked when Viola returned home Thursday evening. “You look horribly pale and there are dark circles under your eyes.”
“You’re clearly not getting enough rest,” Harriet said. “And you’re obviously working too hard as well.”
“I’m fine,” Viola said as she pulled off her bonnet and shucked her spencer. Both were returned to the hook on the wall were she usually kept them.
Neither woman looked convinced.
“I recommend a hot cup of tea followed by a hearty meal and a good night’s sleep.” Harriet was already heading toward the kitchen door. “I’ll bring everything upstairs and join you in a minute.”
Resigning herself to her friends’ care, Viola followed Diana into the parlor, where a cozy fire burned brightly in the grate. Rex, who’d come to greet her as usual, stayed close to Viola’s side. He curled up on the floor next to her feet as soon as she’d taken her seat on the sofa.
“We’re worried about you,” Diana said while they waited for Harriet. “You’re facing too many problems alone.”
“That’s not really true. I have Haines helping me out at the hospital and Lowell offering assistance with Robert.” Viola sank back against the sofa and offered Diana a smile. “It could be worse.”
“I suppose it always can be,” Diana said. She tilted her head and considered Viola. “He still hasn’t come to see you, has he?”
“Who?”
Diana rolled her eyes. “Lowell, of course. Because we’ve seen you exhausted before Viola, but this is different. You look . . . heartbroken.”
Tears burned Viola’s eyes as they pressed against them. She would not cry. And yet she could already feel a wet trickle against her cheek. Swiping it away, she straightened her posture and faced her friend. “I think I’ve lost my chance with him.”
The door opened and Harriet stepped in. She was carrying a tray containing a teapot and cups. After closing the door behind her, she took one look at Viola and paused. “Heavens. What on earth did you say to her, Diana?”
“I merely inquired about Mr. Lowell.”
“Ah.” Harriet placed the tray on the table and handed out cups, which she then proceeded to fill. “I suppose that explains the miserable expression you’re wearing.”
“I should have said yes when he offered to escort me tomorrow. I should have . . .” She wasn’t sure what she should have done any
more and it didn’t really matter anyway, did it? “He’ll find someone else to court now.”
“Maybe he will and maybe he won’t,” Diana said. “But I’m inclined to believe he’s still attempting to win you.”
Viola stared at her. “How?”
“Because of the article he wrote.” Diana looked at her as if the point she was making was crystal clear.
It just wasn’t to Viola. “He’s obviously hoping to attract other eligible young ladies.”
“Or he’s trying to repair his reputation so people will know he has honorable intentions where you are concerned.” Harriet sipped her tea while Viola tried to absorb this idea. “You told him yourself that you feared being seen in his company—that it might reflect poorly on you at a time when you cannot afford any negative gossip.”
“Yes,” Viola muttered. “Yes I did.” Was it really possible that he’d done this for her? “But if this is his reasoning, why not come to see me? Why stay away?”
“We could ask the same of you,” Diana said. “A relationship is not a one-sided endeavor, and since you did deny him the pleasure of his escort, he might be sitting at home just as you are right now, hoping you’ll change your mind.”
“I can’t do that,” Viola said even as she wished she could. “It would give him the wrong impression. He’d think I’m willing to be his wife.”
“Aren’t you?”
The question, posed by Harriet, resulted in a long moment of silence during which Viola reflected on her life, the dream she’d had as a little girl of marrying for love and living happily ever after, and the reality she’d been dealt instead.
“I don’t know, but I do have to be completely sure before I allow him to think that I might be.” She looked at her friends. “Few women achieve independence. Most are subject to their husband’s wills. I’m not sure I want that for myself.”
“It’s certainly a big decision and one you shouldn’t make lightly,” Diana told her. “But while you think on it, I suggest Harriet and I try to cheer you up. After all, there is a party for you to attend tomorrow evening. Are you still nervous about it?”
“A little, but only because I want it to be a success.”
“At least Florian’s family will be there to support you,” Harriet said. “As long as you stay by their side no one will dare say a word against you.”
“Right now I think most of the people attending are simply looking to catch a glimpse of the infamous duchess,” Viola said. She’d used their curiosity to lure them, and although she loathed the idea of socializing with people who’d gossiped about her over the years, she needed to secure them as her clients. And who knew, perhaps when she met them all in person, they’d see what Lowell and Florian and her other friends saw—that she wasn’t the scheming social climber they thought her to be.
“I say we give them something to remember, then,” Harriet said. She smiled broadly. “After you’ve eaten, you’ll try on the gown you ordered.”
It was a beautiful creation fashioned from emerald green silk. Viola had hung it on her wardrobe door so she could look at it every time she entered her bedchamber.
“And tomorrow we’ll style your hair,” Diana added. “When you arrive at the rejuvenation center in the evening, heads will turn and every gentleman present will flock to your side, including Mr. Lowell.”
Liking the idea of drawing his attention, Viola smiled. She did not care if anyone else found her pretty or remotely attractive, but she wanted him to. Even though she wasn’t sure if they’d share a future together, it mattered to her that he, the most wonderful man she’d ever known, wanted her.
Chapter 16
Viola had not intended to be late to her own party, but she’d never been to a ball before, or any other social functions for that matter. As a result, it had taken a great deal longer than she’d expected to get ready. Her hair alone had taken an hour, shaping it and pinning it in just the right places. What Diana and Harriet had accomplished was almost magical. They’d added volume where none had existed before and framed her face with the softest curls.
When Viola had finally looked at herself in the cheval glass after donning her gown, she’d been surprised. Not only because her friends had lowered the bodice enough to reveal the tops of her breasts, or because they’d trimmed the edge of her décolletage with shimmering beads intended to draw attention, but because, for the very first time, she looked both wealthy and fashionable, like the duchess she was supposed to be.
“Perfect,” Diana murmured beside her. Harriet nodded, and the two women escorted Viola downstairs, where a hired carriage awaited.
“We hope you have a wonderful evening,” Harriet told her, and gave her a hug.
Diana helped her into the carriage. “Good luck.” She closed the door and the carriage took off at an even pace. The rejuvenation center wasn’t too far and Viola arrived there within ten minutes.
Taking a deep breath, Viola opened the carriage door and stepped down onto the pavement, where she was instantly greeted by Coventry and Huntley who both appeared as if out of nowhere.
“We were watching for you,” Huntley said with a smile and a look in his eyes that conveyed a great deal of surprise. “May I say you look absolutely stunning, Your Grace.”
“A diamond of the first water,” Coventry added. He offered his arm. “Our wives insisted we escort you inside.”
“Thank you.” Viola placed her hand on Coventry’s arm and allowed him to guide her toward the front door.
They arrived in the foyer, and Florian’s manservant, Mr. Dunhurst, was there, his voice loudly announcing her arrival. Silence settled, curious stares followed and then came the whispers, whirling around her like autumn leaves rustling in the wind.
Viola straightened her spine. “Thank you for coming,” she said, as loudly as she could manage. “I hope you enjoy your evening.” Unable to stop herself, she searched the room for the only person whose presence truly mattered. He was standing some distance away, his gaze sharp with interest and something else she could not define.
Pleasure flooded her insides as Viola acknowledged the effect she was having on Mr. Lowell. Until a subtle movement at his side caught her notice and she became aware of the woman who clung to his arm. She was young, with hair spun from copper and gold. Her lips were a bright shade of pink, her eyes a dazzling blue. Incredibly stunning, she rose up onto her toes and whispered something in Mr. Lowell’s ear.
He immediately smiled in response, and the pleasure Viola had felt seconds earlier turned to ice. This was not how her evening was meant to proceed. Mr. Lowell was supposed to come greet her, flirt with her and make her blush in that way she’d come to crave. Instead he was with someone else—a debutante, she presumed, who’d be more than willing to accept any offer of marriage he made.
Viola took a shaky breath. It was too late. She’d been too indecisive, too unwelcoming of Mr. Lowell’s advances, and now he’d moved on to someone else.
“Viola.” She heard Gabriella before she saw her. The duchess slipped past a couple of men, bringing Amelia with her. “Oh my goodness. It’s quite the crush already and I don’t believe all the guests have arrived yet.”
Relieved with the distraction her friends offered, Viola smiled in greeting. “I must say I’m impressed with the turnout.” She cast a fleeting glance in Mr. Lowell’s direction and saw he was starting to come toward them. Having to greet him right now, to have him introduce her to whoever the young woman was and possibly declare her his fiancée, would be much too difficult. “Perhaps we ought to move into the next room so we’re not blocking the entrance.”
Agreeing with her, they proceeded toward an arched doorway on the right, pausing occasionally so Viola could greet people individually and exchange a few words. To her relief, everyone was polite and eager to compliment the center. Not a single word of censure was spoken.
“You have truly outdone yourself, Viola,” Amelia said when she saw how the lounge area had been decorated with
divans upholstered in mauve damask silk. The rich color was further accentuated by matching veil curtains adorning a series of windows set in an ochre-colored wall.
“Just look at the detail on that mirror over there,” Gabriella said. “And that counter you’ve placed beneath it is simply fantastic. An incredible piece of craftsmanship.”
“I’m still not entirely sure what purpose it ought to serve,” Viola said. “Florian found it in the attic of Redding House after his uncle died. He suggested we use it here because of the intricate floral carvings.”
“It’s most unusual,” Huntley said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Looks like a display shelf,” Coventry supplied, “except longer and wider.”
“You could use it for that,” Gabriella said. Her eyes seemed to brighten with renewed excitement. “You could place little boxes or baskets filled with soaps, lotions and perfumes on it. By offering the same products your employees use on the clients for sale, you might add some extra income.”
Viola stared at the duchess. “That’s a marvelous suggestion.” A thought began taking shape in her head. She considered it a moment before saying, “Since this center was your idea to begin with and keeping in mind how good you are at coming up with ways in which to improve it, I wonder if you would like to be more involved with the day-to-day running.”
Gabriella beamed. “I should like that a great deal, Viola.” She looked up at Huntley. “If you agree.”
Her husband placed his arm around her waist and quietly murmured, “If it makes you happy, my love, I agree wholeheartedly.”
Ignoring the swift pang of envy piercing her heart, Viola addressed the practical issues of such an arrangement. “Your time would have to be donated.”
“But of course! I would not dream of demanding compensation, Viola. Not when I do not need it and certainly not when I know the income is meant for St. Agatha’s,” Gabriella said at the exact same moment Mr. Lowell appeared.
The Infamous Duchess Page 18