Chapter 1
Violet moved gracefully as a swan through the assembled guests.
Her pale, blue eyes picked out those she knew or was at least acquainted with and she smiled a greeting at them.
She wore a dress of pale blue and gray, with pale gray gloves that reached to her elbows and pearls about her neck.
The gold-spun curls of her hair were artfully pinned up, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her neck.
Delicate silver earrings complimented her eyes and complexion.
The surroundings were grand indeed. The mansion in South Audley Street, a stone’s throw from Hyde Park, sparkled as though it had been built of precious gems instead of brick.
The tall ceiling hall in which the guests of the Earl of Munster were assembled was a piece of art in itself.
Mirrors gave a gleam to the room as well as giving the illusion of much great space.
Candles were magnified by chandeliers that hung from a ceiling painted in a scene of angels and the celestial heavens.
The gathered guests added their own finery to that of their surroundings.
Around her, Violet looked admiringly at necklaces that sparkled and shone, and rings with large precious stones, all showed off ostentatiously by the wearer.
Tiaras adorned fashionably styled hair. She felt at home here, though it was not her house.
The people around her moved and behaved according to a set of unspoken rules and conventions that she had come to understand very well.
Violet swam in a sea of London high society, navigating its shifting currents with ease.
“Quite spectacular, is it not, Lady Violet?” said Mary Wyndham, emerging from a shift in the assemblage to address Violet.
She had brown hair, worn up and festooned with precious stones and jewelry. Violet acknowledged the other woman’s rank with an inclination of her head. She was, after all, wife of George Fitzclarence, Earl of Munster, and eldest son of the new King.
“Simply perfect, Your Ladyship,” Violet said. “My compliments to you and His Lordship. I have rarely seen a finer display.”
“We must outdo ourselves on such occasions, must we not? A new King does not ascend to the throne every day,” Lady Mary said.
“Indeed. I think everyone here is of the same mind and quite in awe of the occasion.”
Lady Mary smiled, turning to allow the light to catch the sapphires of her tiara. Violet took the cue, knowing that the item was new.
“My, what a tiara, Your Ladyship. A magnificent piece,” Violet duly responded.
“Oh, do you think so, Lady Violet? George had it made for me from sapphires from his father’s collection. A gift from the new King to his eldest child.”
Eldest but illegitimate, though we will not speak of that aloud, of course. Which is why your husband is Earl of Munster instead of Prince of Wales.
“It is the glorious centerpiece of this occasion,” Violet said, putting just the right amount of enthusiasm into her voice.
Enough to appease Mary Wyndham’s monstrous ego but not enough to sound simpering. A fine line must be walked when navigating the mazes of the Ton. Stray from the path and you are labeled a sycophant and your influence diminishes.
“I trust your dance card is already filling up, Lady Violet? I do so enjoy seeing people of genuine grace take the floor,” Lady Mary said.
“I have accepted a number of invitations, though I am no expert,” Violet said modestly.
“Nonsense my dear. I have seen you dance on a number of occasions and you are as graceful as a swan. Save a space for later in the evening, I believe George will request the pleasure of your company in a waltz.”
“I will certainly look forward to that, Lady Mary,” Violet said, bowing with her head at the honor done to her.
Lady Mary moved on, a path opening for her and hopeful lords and ladies seeking to catch her eye. Violet was aware of a number turning to her, seeking the same, and knew she would need to choose carefully who she acknowledged and in what order.
A fine line indeed. A tightrope walk even.
The first pair of eyes she caught belonged to a pretty young woman with dark hair and a bold nose above full lips. She was dressed in dark blue velvet and her straight hair hung to her shoulders, framing her face.
“Lillian, are you enjoying yourself?” Violet said, crossing the space between them.
She made eye contact with those she ought to, and acknowledged with short greetings a select few before she reached the side of her sister.
“It is certainly…shiny,” Lillian said with a wry smile. “I think I should have worn a hat to shade my eyes.”
Violet’s smile did not slip and she wove her arm through her sister’s, turning her and guiding her across the room.
“You shouldn’t say such things, Lilly,” she said when they reached a quiet spot with no-one quite within earshot. “You will get a reputation for having a sharp tongue.”
“Perhaps, I would prefer that to simpering before people like her,” Lillian said.
“She, is our host. And with the power to make or break our family in this city. With your interest in commerce and business, I would think that you would appreciate that,” Violet told her.
Does she not see that as members of society, we must play this game or see ourselves shoved into the outer darkness of anonymity? That would do Uncle George’s businesses no good at all.
Lillian scowled and Violet turned her to look towards one of the large portraits on the wall, placed between mirrors. None who saw the pair would have thought anything of the movement, certainly not that Violet had turned her sister around to hide her expression.
“I suppose you are right. You’re always right, Vi,” Lillian grumbled.
Violet laughed softly, hugging Lillian’s arm.
“I wish that were so. But I could not make head nor tail of a ledger or statement of account the way you can. Father…” She stopped, clearing her throat. “…Uncle George is so proud of that.”
Lillian hugged back, smiling, and patting Violet’s hand. “You do not need to play with words around me. You are my sister and always will be. And Papa is your Papa too. Titles are meaningless.”
“What a thing to say in the house of an Earl!” George Ravendel exclaimed as he approached the two.
He walked with hands clasped behind him, wearing the red, yellow, and white uniform of his regiment.
His white belt held back a spreading paunch but his broad shoulders and square-jawed face gave the impression of substance rather than fat.
His bold nose was a feature both of his daughters, Lillian and Clara, had inherited.
By contrast, Violet had a delicate button nose.
Along with her fiery gold hair, amid the black and brown of the Ravendels, it was a feature that had always marked her out as different.
Not that anyone in the family acknowledged that difference.
I am a Ravendel. In their eyes at least. My true origins are not important to them. Nor is whether I address George and Charlotte as Papa and Mama as I did when I was a child. Or Uncle and Aunt as I do since I discovered the truth.
“I meant the title Violet uses for you and Mama,” Lillian murmured.
George looked uncomfortable, huffing, and looking up at the portrait.
“Yes, well. Least said and all that.”
“That, as you well know, is Papa’s way of saying that you are one of three daughters of his and that is that,” Lillian said with a smile.
“Now, Lillian. I do hope you have been accepting offers to dance. You really must make an effort, you know,” George said, changing the subject with all the subtlety of an infantry regiment marching across a battlefield.
“I have been mingling, as I am supposed to,” Lillian said, defensively.
“Because a marriage does not just land in your lap. You must play the game, little one,” George continued, “or you will end up on the shelf and an embittered old spinster.”
“I know all of this, Papa. It is just…something I am not very good at,” Lillian said, frustration plain on her face.
“Then let your older sister help you. Violet excels at this sort of thing,” George said, pride evident in his voice. “If it were permitted, I would say she should go into politics.”
“Or marry a politician,” Violet added. “That is how women exercise influence in our society. Through the men they marry. And you have ambitions, Lillian.”
Lillian nodded. “Yes, yes yes. I know all of this. I just find it all so intimidating.”
“Then I will help you. I know just the group of ladies that you simply must become acquainted with. Don’t worry, I will lead the conversation and you will soon find yourself feeling more at ease.”
Violet turned, ready to guide Lillian back into the shifting currents of the Ton. She looked back at George for a moment.
“And perhaps later we can continue discussing that particular matter which we began to talk about earlier? Uncle?” she said, catching and holding his eye.
George nodded briskly, then looked away.
The matter which you promised to talk to me about. The matter of who my real father is.