Wilful Wallflowers Collection: Books 1 - 3

by Claudia Stone

  Violet read and reread the notice, her mind a-whirr. Her father's message, which she had promptly forgotten about in all the duke-related-drama, had mentioned that Mr Greer held the name of a higher-up in Whitehall. Was it possible that this gentleman had discovered that Mr Greer had been labelled as a spy? Surely, if Mr Greer had been dealt with by the right channels, there would have been news of his capture--for the Crown did love to crow when they caught a spy. Something untoward must have happened...

  No, Violet thought, as she tried to calm herself, that's ridiculous. Besides, Orsino would learn of Greer's disappearance, and investigate if he thought anything was amiss.

  But the duke had departed for Wales, just two days later, a voice in her head reminded her. And it was unlikely that fate was so powerful that he would spot a small notice in one of the London papers.

  Violet bit her lip as she pondered over what she should do. She could hardly march into Whitehall, asking to see the top-secret official who had worked with Orsino. Not only would she be in trouble, but Orsino would be as well.

  Her eye caught on the front page of The Times, whose front page also featured an article on Charlotte's marriage to one of the infamous "Upstarts".

  That was it! Violet said a silent prayer of thanks, as she realised that there was one person she could confide in --Penrith.

  As Orsino's close friend--and another of Whitehall's emissaries--he was certain to know what steps needed to be taken, if any. And as Charlotte's friend, Penrith was unlikely to press her too hard for details on how she came to learn Greer's name.

  Violet sprung from the chaise, in search of a shawl. She debated calling Henry to fetch the carriage, but as time was not on her side, she decided against it.

  "I am going out for a walk," she cried as she raced through the entrance hall and out the front door.

  Heaven only knew how many people spotted her, as she scandalously raced down Jermyn Street, toward St James' Square. But Violet did not care; she had to reach Penrith.

  It was only at the front door of the duke's towering residence that Violet deigned to straighten herself up. She ran a hand over her hair, and wrapped her shawl tightly around herself, hoping that her appearance was neat enough to warrant admission.

  "I need to speak to Her Grace," Violet gasped, as the officious butler opened the door, "And before you ask, I do not have a card. Please tell her it is Violet Havisham, and that it is an emergency."

  The butler eyed her warily, but duly disappeared into the house--though not without closing the door behind him. After a few minutes, Charlotte appeared, having been dragged from the recesses of the vast mansion.

  "Violet," she exclaimed, her face creased into a frown of worry, "Is everything all right?"

  "Yes," Violet nodded, before correcting herself, "Well, no, actually. Well, if I'm honest, I'm not sure."

  Charlotte took one look at her harried friend and placed an arm around her to guide her inside.

  "We shall need some tea," she instructed the butler, "And French Fancies--actually, best make it a platter."

  Once inside the elegantly appointed drawing-room, Violet began to tell her tale. She did not stop--not even when Charlotte tried to interject--until she had reached the very end.

  "Well," Charlotte looked rather impressed, "I was not expecting that. What a tale, Violet; you shall have to elaborate more on certain aspects, once we have the time. But for now, I would think we had best involve Penrith."

  Charlotte glided to the door of the drawing-room, no doubt, Violet guessed, on a cloud of newly-wedded bliss. She threw open the door, and poked her head outside, loudly calling for "Shuggy".

  "He'll come quicker if he thinks the servants might hear me calling him that," Charlotte explained, with a wink, to her friend.

  Indeed, in just a few seconds, the Duke of Penrith came striding into the room, his expression one of irritated affection.

  "You hollered, wife dearest?" he questioned, with a sardonic raise of his brow.

  "I did not holler," Charlotte grumbled, "I called for my dear husband, but you arrived instead."

  "Perhaps your dear husband would arrive quicker, if you called him by his name," Penrith countered with a grin, before catching sight of Violet, "Oh, you have company."

  "Oh, yes," Charlotte flushed, before making a hasty introduction.

  "Violet has come by some information," Charlotte continued, once she had completed the necessary social niceties, "Though we cannot tell you how. I promise you she came by it legally--or well, I think legally?"

  Charlotte cast Violet a questioning glance, and Violet felt herself flush as the Duke of Penrith turned his cool, blue-eyed gaze upon her.

  "It was perfectly legal," Violet assured the duke, "I was helping the Duke of Orsino to translate a message from my father."

  Violet was sure that Penrith wanted her to elaborate further, but she ploughed on before he had a chance to interrupt her. She quickly explained the message, and what it had said, before detailing the notice she had found in the paper.

  "See," she said, thrusting the note, which she had ripped from the paper at Penrith, "Is it not strange? Surely the government would make a big show and dance about catching a traitor in their midst, rather than have him disappear."

  Penrith took the notice and scanned it, his brow furrowed in thought. Beside him, Charlotte smiled encouragingly at Violet, who offered her a wan smile in return.

  "Did Orsino happen to mention who it was who was instructing him?" Penrith queried, after a pause.

  He seemed, Violet thought with relief, to be taking her very seriously. She shook her head, and Penrith exhaled an epithet, for which he promptly apologised.

  "I shall check across the square," he said, almost to himself, "To see what any of Orsino's staff might know, or if they might find some correspondence which might be useful. You two stay here, I shall return anon."

  "I do love it when he acts so seriously," Charlotte whispered, her eyes following her husband's form as he left the room. Charlotte flushed a little, though her expression was one of a contented cat.

  "Come," Charlotte gestured to the chairs, "While he is gone you may explain yourself more, Miss Havisham. Did you say that Orsino proposed to you?"

  "Yes," Violet replied glumly, taking a seat, "Though I could not accept--not when I was deceiving him. I fear he might never forgive me, but do not fret, Charlotte, Aunt Phoebe has promised to take me to Venice."

  "Oh, Violet," Charlotte gave her friend a sad smile, "How bittersweet."

  "It is my own fault," Violet shrugged, "And though I am saddened now, I am sure that, with time, I will forget all about Orsino. And, it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Isn't that what they say?"

  "Mmmh," Charlotte replied absently, distracted by something outside the window.

  The sound of the front door opening and closing brought Violet's attention to the matter at hand. Though, as the sound of two sets of footsteps approached, Charlotte turned to her friend with a grin.

  "Perhaps all is not lost," she said, as the door to the drawing-room opened.

  Violet looked up, to find not only Penrith but Orsino too, standing in the doorway.

  "Violet," Orsino croaked, his handsome face wearing a look of longing.

  Violet stood from her seat and stared stupidly back at him. Love, she thought, did rather tie one's tongue.

  Charlotte clapped gleefully, as she glanced between Orsino and Violet. Though her glee was to be shortlived, for Penrith marched over and placed a hand on her arm.

  "Come, let us give them some privacy," he whispered, though loud enough for Violet to hear, "Take it from a man who made a very public proposal--it is easier without an audience."

  Charlotte looked as though she wished to protest, but she followed her husband from the room in silence. As the door closed behind them, however, Violet heard a slight kerfuffle, as Charlotte put up some of a fight.

  Evidently, she had thought that she might list
en through the keyhole.

  "Ah," Orsino said, as the noise died away, "Here we are."

  "Yes," Violet offered in return, though she frowned as she thought of something, "Why are you here? I thought that you had left for Wales?"

  "I realised when I was half-way there, that there was somewhere else I needed to be," Orsino replied, looking rather vulnerable for one so intimidating.

  He took a hesitant step toward her, and when Violet did not back away, he took another, until at last, he was standing before her.

  "I have been a blunderbuss, Violet," he said, as he took her hands in his, "A thundering, great gundiguts, and I should hang in chains for having run off like that."

  "No, I am the gundiguts," Violet replied, though she was not too certain what that actually was, "I should never have tried to fool you."

  "You did it for your brother," Orsino shrugged, before momentarily wincing, "And if I was annoyed, it was with myself, for being so taken in by your disguise. It was really very good; you could have a career as a spy if you wished it."

  "I don't wish it," Violet held his gaze, willing him to understand what it was that she did wish for.

  "Do you forgive me for being a prideful fool?" Orsino whispered as he lowered his head toward hers.

  "Only if you forgive me for being a stupid fool," Violet breathed.

  Forgiveness was granted between both parties with a kiss. Soft at first, but soon it turned to a more passionate embrace. Violet's arms snaked around Orsino's neck, as she drew him toward her, savouring his warmth and strength.

  They carried on like this for a few minutes, both lost in the sensual pleasure of it until a noise outside the door stopped them.

  "I wonder what that was?" Orsino looked alarmed.

  "I bet you fivepence it's Charlotte," Violet guessed. And sure enough, Penrith's voice calling out an admonishment to his wife could be heard through the door.

  "I'd best do this quickly then," Orsino said, as he dropped to his knee before her, "Violet Havisham, will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?"

  For a moment, Violet was so overcome with emotion that she could not answer. It was only when Orsino began to look a little panicked, that Violet finally found her voice.

  "Yes," she cried, tugging him back to his feet, "Yes, of course, I will."

  Another kiss thusly ensued, though this time Charlotte could not hold herself back, and came barrelling through the door, followed by Penrith.

  "Oh, I am so happy!" she cried, at the same time as her husband said, "I did try to stop her, but she's unstoppable."

  "Oh, hush, Shuggy," Charlotte admonished, and Penrith turned pink, "Anyway, we could not have left them alone another minute longer, or it might have been deemed a scandal. We can't fall at the first hurdle of our duties as chaperones."

  Charlotte beamed, whilst Penrith turned a deeper shade of pink, as Orsino mouthed "Shuggy?" in question.

  "Er, yes, quite," Penrith said brusquely, as he desperately tried to retain his customary formality in front of Violet. "Congratulations to you both. I wish you a long and bounteous marriage."

  "Pfft," Charlotte rolled her eyes, "You are not the vicar, dear; you are their friend. If ever an occasion called for a hug, it is this. Oh, and some sparkling wine!"

  Charlotte summoned a footman, who duly returned with four glass flutes and a bottle of sparkling wine. After a small toast from Penrith--which though formal, was endearingly sweet--and two glasses of the wine--which made Violet's head spin--Orsino declared that he would take Violet home.

  "Perhaps I should chaperone you both on your journey," Charlotte cried, evidently wishing for the fun to continue.

  "Perhaps you should not," Penrith suggested, treading not too subtly on his wife's toe.

  "Oww," Charlotte yelped, before realisation dawned on her, "Oh, oh, yes you are right, dear. It's only around the corner, after all."

  There was much hugging at the front door, as they awaited Orsino's carriage, and after a tearful farewell from Charlotte--whom Violet suspected had consumed far too much wine--they were off.

  "Alone at last," Orsino sighed happily, as he followed Violet into the carriage compartment.

  "We shall be parted again, shortly," Violet sighed.

  "Not for long; I have every intention of calling on the Archbishop of Canterbury, once you are safely home, and procuring a special license. I cannot wait any longer than I have to, Violet, until you are my bride."

  Violet made a few obligatory noises of protest, but they were just for show. In truth, she too could not wait until they were joined as one.

  "But what has happened to John Greer?" Violet questioned, as the carriage took off with a jolt. In all the excitement, she had forgotten about why she had called at Penrith House in the first instance.

  "Ah," Orsino grinned, "I must commend you on your skills of observation, my dear. Penrith showed me the notice. I will admit that it was naive of me, to take Nevins at face value--thank goodness you were here to catch him. Penrith is headed for Whitehall, after tea, to have Nevins' office searched. I don't doubt that he will swing from Tyburn's Tree by month's end."

  Violet was silent as she thought on the fate of the faceless man she might have committed to death.

  "His punishment is of his own making," Orsino said, as he took her hand, "Do not feel any guilt for that traitor."

  Violet was silent for a few minutes, as she allowed the weight of the burden to lift from her. Soon, however, she realised that something else was amiss.

  "Are we not home yet?" she asked, casting Orsino a questioning glance, "It is only around the corner."

  "I'm afraid," the duke grinned, "That it is I who is now guilty of a small duplicity. I instructed the driver to circle the square for half an hour."

  "Whatever for?" Violet asked agog.

  "For this."

  Orsino pulled her toward him, catching her lips with his, in a kiss that she hoped would never end.

  "Do you mind?" he asked, his eyes soft.

  "Heavens, no," Violet breathed, "In fact, I might ask the driver to make it an hour."

  Epilogue

  Violet had lost her husband, somewhere within the house. It was no mean feat to lose a man of six foot four, yet in every room Violet checked, her husband could not be found.

  "Johnson," she queried, to her husband's valet, who was painstakingly attending to a pair of stained breeches, in Orsino's dressing room, "Have you seen His Grace?"

  The valet shook his head, before giving a rueful glance down at the breeches he was attempting to save.

  "Your Grace, I have not seen him since this morning," he said, before sighing long and weary, "But if my workload of late is anything to go by, I would assume His Grace is in the gardens, rolling around on the grass."

  "I hardly think that is an act befitting of a duke," Violet protested with a laugh.

  "Nor do I," Johnson huffed, "But grass stains never lie--nor do they wash-out. If you happen to find your husband, Your Grace, you might tell him that I am considering my position."

  As Johnson threatened to leave every second day, Violet did not take him too seriously. She offered him what she hoped was a consoling smile before setting downstairs to continue her search.

  The gardens of Orsino House, on St James' Square, were not so vast as the ones of the ducal estate in Glamorgan, but they were terribly pretty. A neat terrace opened on to an ornamental garden, behind which--cleverly disguised by a topiary hedge--lay the kitchen gardens.

  Even from the doorway, Violet could hear the sound of her husband's laughter, and she set forth to discover what it was that he was at.

  Violet tripped down the steps, past the trickling fountain, and along the stone-path to the gate which led to the kitchen garden. She opened it a crack and peered in, before bursting out laughing at what she found.

  Her husband--all six foot four of him--was crawling along on his hands and knees, in an apparent attempt to teach their son to crawl.

  Th
eodore, who had recently mastered the art of sitting up, seemed equally amused by his father's antics. Amused as he was, however, he also did not seem to be in any way inclined toward following suit. Her young son happily pulled himself along on his bottom after his father, gurgling happily at their game.

  "No, Theo," Jack corrected with a groan, "Like this, on your hands and knees. Come on, lad, I have a fine Arab hot-blood wagered on you winning this race."

  Race? Violet frowned.

  "Have you entered our son into some sort of baby race?" she queried, as she pushed open the gate.

  "Ah, Violet!" her husband hastily leapt to his feet, "My love, I thought you were off to meet with Charlotte and Julia."

  "I was, but this letter arrived before I could leave," Violet replied, waving the letter in her hand, before she continued, "And I thought you were putting Teddy to bed?"

  "I was," Jack shifted from one foot to the other, "But then, I decided..."

  "To practice crawling for this race?" Violet raised an eyebrow, "Come, the cat is out of the bag. What's going on?"

  "Well, the three of us," Jack began, looking rather shame-faced, "Spend an awful lot of time bragging about how brilliant our children are."

  "Mmm," Violet, who daily bored anyone silly enough to ask with tales of Teddy's accomplishments, allowed him to continue.

  "And it transpired that Penrith's little lad can cross the garden in less than a minute."

  "He timed him?" Violet gawped.

  "Well, it is rather impressive," Jack grinned, "Then Montague claimed that little Sarah, could do it in fifty-seconds."

  Violet had a strong suspicion of the direction her husband was headed in.

  "So," Jack dropped his green eyes, "I might have said that Teddy could do it in half a minute."

  "But he cannot even crawl," Violet laughed, as she scooped her son up into her arms.

  "He's quick enough on his bottom," Jack argued, as he stepped forward to gently stroke his son's head.

  "Then why not enter him into the race that way?" Violet replied, so used to her husband and his friends that she did not even wonder at the absurdity of their conversation. "Did the other two stipulate that the babies must crawl? Teddy is very fast."