Chapter 3
Early evening
Faint strains of violin music greeted Violet as she walked into Lady Sinclair’s ballroom at her mother’s side.
She wore the flowing white gown and delicate swan mask as planned, her auburn curls pinned atop her head with only a few escaping to curl around her face and neck.
Perhaps under different circumstances, she would have allowed herself a secret delight in her maidenly appearance, but not tonight. Tonight, her thoughts were too caught up in the mission at hand, and as soon as she laid eyes on Mabel, she made her excuses and slipped away.
Mabel, behind a gold mask of a cat, grasped her hand and pulled her behind a potted palm. “Colette has not arrived yet, but when she does, I say we pull her aside and attempt to reason with her. Perhaps she is just a bully and, faced with someone other than just me, will capitulate.”
“There she is now.” Violet nodded slightly toward the entrance, where a thin young woman arrayed in a deep green dress with a peacock mask was scanning the room.
“How do you know it’s her?” Mabel’s eyes followed her friend’s, and she gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Ah, her father. He has not worn a mask, I see.”
“And in doing so has given away his daughter’s identity. Let us pull her aside at once.” Violet made her way swiftly across the room, Mabel lagging slightly behind.
“Lady Colette,” she said, sinking into a deep curtsy. “Do you have a moment to speak?”
Colette’s dark eyes narrowed behind her mask. “Lady Violet Avery, I presume? I’d recognize your red hair anywhere.” Her voice hardened as she caught sight of Mabel behind Violet. “And I can also guess why you are here.”
Violet guided the two girls slightly out of the way of traffic, relying on a curtained alcove to help obscure their conversation. “Mabel tells me—”
“Mabel can speak for herself,” Colette snapped. “She did not need to bring her loud-mouthed friend into private business.”
“It was you who put your nose into private matters,” Mabel cried. “What right had you to steal personal information from me?”
“That theft is a matter of history,” Colette said, her tone taking on a sickly-sweet flavor.
“I do not wish to speak of the past, which we cannot now change. I wish to speak of the future. I have a certain tidbit of knowledge that I will not easily forget, and you have a certain tidbit of a brother that I would like to know better. Have you decided on a course of action, my dear Miss Bunting?”
Violet felt a flash of rage and bit back a retort. “This is beneath you, Lady Colette.”
“Oh, not at all.” Colette laughed lightly. “It may be beneath someone like you, Lady Vi, with your high principles and your perfect family upbringing, but for me … it’s rather up my alley. I have no qualms about a bit of blackmail on the side.”
“That much is evident.” Mabel’s jaw tightened.
“So, what’s it going to be?” Colette asked.
“Fine.” Mabel let out her breath in a rush. “Arthur will be here presently. He has agreed to court you.”
This was a lie, Violet knew, and the signal agreed upon that their attempt at resolving things peacefully must be abandoned in pursuit of a more effective solution to the problem.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Colette said.
“Will you not hand me the letter and book now?” Mabel asked, “since I have assured Arthur’s cooperation?”
“Oh, heavens, I don’t believe you for a moment,” Colette snapped, clutching her purse close.
“I won’t hand the book and letter over until Arthur has asked me to dance.
In fact,” her eyes lit as though she was just now thinking of a pleasant turn of events, “I may hold onto it until he has called on me once or twice. It does me no good to have an obligatory dance on the dance floor and then lose my real suitor once the evening is done.”
She gave a little curtsy and swept away in a rush of green silk. Mabel shivered, and Violet could hear barely-restrained tears in her voice. “I knew she would not hand it over.”
Violet couldn’t help smiling. “But the conversation was a success, don’t you see?
We needed to know she had the evidence on her person.
Did you see how she clutched her reticule, and how it seemed only to just now dawn on her that she could hold the letter until Arthur had paid her regular suit?
It means she brought the book and letter with her, and we have a chance of stealing them back. ”
Mabel relaxed slightly. “If we can steal them back.”
“I can,” Violet said softly. “I’m sure of it.”
Before she could open her mouth to speak further, though, she heard a voice clear at her right shoulder and turned to see a tall, impeccably dressed man in a simple black mask standing beside her.
He had dark, curly hair that had been allowed to grow rakishly past his ears and tumble down his forehead, and he stood with a strong and unaffected confidence.
“I am sorry to intrude, dear ladies, but might I ask the swan for a dance?”
Violet’s breath caught in her throat. This was not part of the plan, nor was the flush of heat climbing her neck or the way her hands suddenly felt like ice. “I … we were—”
“Of course she’ll dance,” Mabel said in a rush. “We were just hoping for a turn on the floor, and any other plans can wait for a few minutes of song,” she added significantly.
“Yes,” Violet managed. “Thank you.”
She collected herself as he led her to the dance floor and had banished any foolish feelings his self-assured presence brought up in her by the time they were bowing to each other and beginning the familiar steps.
“I am glad to have a turn around the dance floor,” he said, leading off in conversation as well as dance. His voice was smooth and deep. “It has been some time since I’ve engaged in the activity.”
“You do not dance often?” she asked, going through the motions of a slow turn.
“Not since I traveled the continent,” he said. “Then I danced nightly. I had a rather overzealous friend who encouraged me to be more social than was my wont.”
“And do you think it improved you, this social exploration you would otherwise not have attempted?” Violet asked. She tried not to think about how good it felt when his hand found her waist and directed her gently in and out of the crowd.
“I think most things that put us out of our comfort zone improve us,” the masked man said agreeably. “We may not go on to adopt those lessons for the rest of our lives but simply trying something new builds humility and curiosity—good character traits indeed.”
“I agree,” Violet said. After a pause, she added, “What things surprised you the most on your journeys on the continent? I myself have never been out of England.”
The man thought for a moment and then said, “We stopped at the court in Spain and were hosted there quite briefly because of my friend’s good standing with the prince.
During our time, there was a royal birth.
We witnessed a rather odd tradition in which the infant is presented on a silver platter to the father, at which point he kisses the child in blessing.
I know that our English sensibilities can be rather na?ve, but for a dreadful moment, I thought the whole thing was going in a much darker direction. The kiss was a relief.”
Violet laughed despite herself. “That is rather dreadful.”
“And yet you laugh.” A small smile curled her partner’s lips. “I see that you possess a dark sense of humor underneath your swan features.”
“Rather,” she said. She was beginning to enjoy herself. “Tell me, good sir. What is your name?”
“It is a masked ball for a reason.” His tone took on an edge it had not held before. “And perhaps some people wish to have a simple dance without the added stress of societal expectations pressing down upon them.”
“I did not wish to add stress—”
“Let me guess, you found me mildly amusing and therefore determined that I would make a good match.” The man’s jaw worked in annoyance.
Violet felt another flush, this one of a less pleasant nature. How arrogant can a person be? “I beg your pardon?”
“You will now have the recourse of saying you had no such designs, even if you had.” He sighed and lifted an arm to turn her through the dance steps. “I ought not to have said anything.”
“Perhaps not,” she said tightly. “Although I might wish you regretted your words because of their presumption and arrogance, not because they simply removed the argumentative high ground you previously occupied.”
Her words arrested him, and he stared at her with an expression made unreadable by his mask. He was wordless, and she assumed she’d angered him. Good. Let him feel as I do.
“I will excuse myself from the remainder of the dance,” she said tightly. “As we both have rather soured the experience. I would have you consider, good sir, that not all women are sirens luring unsuspecting gentlemen to death on the rocks of matrimony.”
She tossed her hair and made her way away from him across the floor, coming up sharply only when Mabel grasped her elbow to halt her progress.
“What was that about?” her friend asked. “The dance was not over.”
“I do not think anyone noticed,” Violet said softly. “It was nothing. We have more important things to talk about.”
“More important than you abandoning the most handsome man in the room in the middle of a waltz? I think not.” Mabel stared hard at Violet. “What happened?”
“It was … an entirely unpleasant experience.” Violet shook her head. “I do not need to recount it, but suffice to say I made rather a fool of myself and found him to be self-conceited. I wish I knew his name, if only so I could avoid him more effectively in the future.”
Mabel sighed. “You’re hopeless. But ’tis no matter. Colette is coming off the dance floor any moment now, and our plan may go into action.” She lifted a cool glass of lemonade. “My part is ready to be played. Go to the powder room. She should be headed your way in moments.”
Violet nodded, trying to shake her preoccupation with the argument and the masked man. It was all nonsense. She did not understand why it rattled her so.
She hurried down the hall away from Mabel, who was already making her way across the dance floor toward Colette. As she rounded the corner, though, her heart sank.
Lord Holden stood in the doorway with his mask dangling from his fingers and a glass of Scotch nearly drained in the other hand. He caught sight of her at once and reached an arm across the hallway to stop her progress.
“How many red-headed maidens are there in the London ton, I wonder?” he asked, his voice drawling and thick.
“Enough, Lord Holden,” Violet answered, her heart dropping with a sickening lurch, “for you to find another for your affections.”
“Ah, it is you. I wasn’t certain before you spoke, but I’d recognize your condescending tone anywhere, Lady Violet.” He positioned his body between her and the powder room. Violet resisted the urge to look behind to see if Colette was coming. She didn’t have time for this.
“I wish I had time to exchange pleasantries, Lord Holden, but I’m afraid I need refreshment.” She looked behind him to the powder room.
She wanted to stay above his conniving ways, yet his very nearness made her itch to flee. He had a way of looking at a woman that made her feel at once both vulnerable and unimportant, like she was simply a pawn in his chess game.
“I’m sure it can wait.” He drew closer than comfort allowed and lowered his voice. “You look fresh enough to me.”
“My Lord—”
“No, don’t refuse me again,” he said quickly, raising a gloved hand to her lips. “Hear me out. I was seized with a passion for you when I first laid eyes on you, Lady Violet. Your family is well-suited to my family, and our stations in life are so similar. You are beautiful, you are—”
“I cannot hear any more of this.” Violet pushed aside the panic that pressed in on her.
Colette would be in the hallway soon, and she would have lost the advantage.
Furthermore, the smell of liquor on his breath and the brief touch of his lips made her queasy.
“I have been quite clear with you, Lord Holden. I do not see a future with us together. Please, do not press your case a second time.”
He pulled back, a sneer twisting his features. “You are so certain of your future, my dear lady, but no man is as committed as I once I have decided upon a course of action.”
“Perhaps no man,” Violet said softly. “But a woman? I am quite set in my answer and will not be swayed.”
“We will see about that.” He turned on his heel and stomped away, but Violet did not wait to see him go.
She fled into the ladies’ room and, scanning it quickly, ducked behind a heavy velvet curtain beside the ottoman. She tried to stay still, certain her pounding heart and heavy breathing were filling the room with echoes.
A mere minute passed, during which she calmed her breathing as best she could before Colette barged into the room with fury in her eyes and lemonade drenching her fine gown.
Violet watched through the slit in the curtain as Colette surveyed herself angrily in the mirror, muttering about clumsy wenches, and then went behind the screen in the corner of the room to clean herself up.
For a moment, Violet thought all was lost.
Then she saw it, thrown down on the ottoman. Colette’s gloves, handkerchief … and reticule.
There was no time. Violet stepped silently out from the curtain, clicked open the reticule, and retrieved the book and paper tucked there.
She did not pause to look back, nor did she take too much care with the door. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain Colette would hear it, and she felt dizzy with fear and excitement.
She had the prized blackmail in her hands, and her only goal now was to put as much distance between herself and Colette as she could.
“Who’s there--?” she heard Colette inquire as the door shut behind her.
Breathless still, she dashed down the hall away from the partygoers, trying handles as she went. The first two doors were locked. Colette would burst out of the ladies’ room any moment now.
The third handle turned, and Violet stumbled blindly inside, barely registering the shelves of books and the low light of a flickering fire. A library. Good.
She stumbled into the room and leaned against the desk, setting the book and letter upon it and pausing to take a full breath for the first time in what felt like ages.
She did not have long to rest. Before she had a chance to acquaint herself fully with her surroundings, Violet felt a heavy hand on her arm and realized with a jolt that she was not alone.