Page 1 of A Lady’s Guide to Scoundrels and Gentlemen (The Harp & Thistle #1)

Mayfair, London

October 1888

W hether one lived in Whitechapel or Mayfair, a policeman’s knock in the middle of the night was always a concerning event.

Lady Vivian Winthrop had never been awoken in such a way before, and it was rather disconcerting. She had been deep asleep when the heavy brass knocker on the front door had pulled her from her slumber with its booming, metallic echo. Tying on her housecoat, Vivian hurried out into the second-floor hallway and hid behind a marble pillar to spy on the activity below. Her father, butler, and a police officer huddled in the entryway. Father was speaking in a hushed tone.

“He refuses to leave, Your Grace,” the policeman replied, evidently not realizing his voice would echo in the large, opulent area.

Who was he ? And where was he refusing to leave? Vivian cupped her hand around her ear to better hear her father’s response but couldn’t make it out.

“Vivian!” A frail voice called out from down the hallway.

Disappointed to be pulled away, Vivian followed the voice into a plush bedroom, where she found her grandmother, the dowager duchess, trying to sit up in bed. Vivian hurried forward with worry. “Gran! Here, let me help you.” She placed a hand on her grandmother’s back. “You know you can’t do that by yourself.”

“Oh, hogwash.” Gran waved away her concern before tucking stray, gray curls back under her lace-edged nightcap. “Light me a cigarette, dear.”

Vivian crossed her arms with a frown. “You’re sick. You shouldn’t be smoking. The physician said no alcohol, and no smoking.”

“I’m not sick, I’m dying . Now light one for me. What’s it going to do, kill me?” Gran cackled at her joke.

Vivian let out an audible sigh to show how much she disliked this, placed a cigarette in Gran’s long cigarette holder, and lit it for her, ensuring Gran saw her face of displeasure.

With bony fingers, Gran placed the stick between her lips, took in an inhale, then exhaled with a long sigh of relief. “Thank you. Now. What’s all the hubbub about?”

Vivian glanced back toward the door. “I’m not sure. There’s a policeman downstairs talking to Father.”

“Exciting!”

Vivian whipped her head back around, then flung her long, brown hair back over her shoulder. “ Exciting ? A knock upon our door at this hour means something bad has happened!”

“What did they say? And don’t tell me you weren’t spying on them. I know you far too well.” Gran ended her accusation with a grin.

Feeling a bit sheepish, Vivian relayed what she’d overheard.

While mulling this over, Gran rested her head back against her satin pillow. “Interesting,” was all she offered.

“Whom do you think they’re talking about?”

“My word, Vivian. You really need to get out more.” Gran, apparently understanding who was at the heart of the hubbub, motioned for her crystal ashtray. Vivian placed it within reach. “When is the last time you’ve been out somewhere, my dear?” Gran asked.

“Oh, not this again.” Vivian groaned, hating the subject. “You already know the answer. The queen has ensured I cannot do anything. I am no longer included in anything that involves the aristocracy. She has always disliked me while adoring my brother, remember?”

“Oh, I remember. All because her silly husband made indecent proposals to me.” Gran tapped her cigarette against the ashtray with a thoughtful look. “Five times.”

Vivian’s eyes widened. “You never told me that part!”

“I believe he did it after they had rows, knowing it would upset her. Begging a pretty American to be his mistress, the scandal! You should see how red her face can turn.” Gran cackled again. “Anyway, that’s why she has it out for you, because she has it out for me. You look exactly like I did when I was your age and Prince Albert became silly around me. But your brother is English through and through, like your grandfather. The good part of the family, in her eyes.”

“And now we’re being flooded with Dollar Princesses.” Vivian was amused so many noble families were now being saved financially by American heiresses and their bank accounts.

Gran took another inhale from her cigarette holder. “I wish I could figure out how to best that woman, if only to annoy her.” Gran then gave Vivian a long look over, as if an idea had begun to form in her mind. But whatever the thought was must have not materialized, as she changed the subject. “Enough about that, though. We need to have a discussion.”

“Lovely.”

“What are you going to do when I die?”

A queasy dread roiled through Vivian’s stomach, and she braced herself for the discussion she had been trying to avoid for months. “Gran, please, I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“It’s going to happen sooner rather than later. Are you planning on staying with your father? I know I’m here for my last days, but then it will be only you and him in this house.”

That subject, Vivian tried not to think about too much. “This is where I grew up. Unlike you, I’ve never lived anywhere else.” Gran was American-born and her father had been a wealthy importer of European fashion and perfume. Gran’s family had lived all over the United States before she’d moved to England to marry her late husband, the former Duke of Chalworth. “Where else would I go?” Vivian asked.

“You have any secret beaus you’ve been hiding from us?” Gran narrowed her eyes, as if she could discern the truth that way.

Vivian was shocked by the question. “Of course not!”

“That’s too bad.”

With a scoff, Vivian turned to the window beside Gran’s bed and pulled the curtain to the side. As she gazed through it, the policeman left their house and climbed into the police wagon. “Once again, Gran, Queen Victoria has ensured that is an impossibility.”

The horses trotted away, and the wagon was gone, leaving behind an empty, dark street.

Finding Gran’s stretched silence strange, Vivian put her attention back to the frail woman. Gran was studying Vivian once again with an intense interest.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Vivian asked.

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like you’re up to something.”

“Me? Never.”

Vivian couldn’t help but laugh and went to sit on the edge of the bed. “So, whom was the policeman talking about, since you already seem to know?”

“He was talking about your brother.”

Vivian started at this. “Bernard? I can’t imagine Bernard breaking the law.” The Marquess of Litchfield helped their father, the current Duke of Chalworth, manage the ducal estate. He was also happily married, with two children. What kind of trouble could he possibly get into?

Before she could ask that question, though, her father came into the bedroom. Vivian secretly thought him adorable; he was short and everything about him was round. His face, his cheeks, his stomach. But his usual good humor was absent and he seemed to have something on his mind, though he did not appear overly worried, which relieved Vivian slightly. “I had a feeling you two would be awake,” the duke said as he came to stand with them. “Unfortunately, I need to leave for a short time.”

“Why?” Vivian asked. “What happened? Why was a policeman here?”

Father looped his hands together behind his back. “Nothing you need to worry about. Now get back in bed, and I will see you in the morning.” He was turning to leave, but Gran wasn’t having it.

“Stop right there!” Gran shouted while pointing her finger. “Don’t you dare go anywhere without telling us what is going on. As your mother, I demand it!”

Despite Father’s white hair and aged face, he looked like a small boy who had been scolded by his mother. “It seems Bernard got himself into a little bit of trouble at a pub.”

“A pub?” Vivian repeated, surprised. When she thought of pubs, she imagined factory workers sitting along the bar drinking pints while someone banged at worn piano keys, a fight occurring somewhere in the background. “What is Bernard doing at a pub?”

“Apparently, he was betting on a fight.”

Gran sat forward with interest. “A fight? You mean boxing?”

“That’s what it sounds like. Something happened, and the pub owner wants him to leave without making a big fuss over it, which was why the policeman came here. To ask me to get Bernard out of the pub. Before a big fuss is made.”

What had happened to Bernard? Vivian worried about him being so far out of his element. Had he been met with violence, perhaps? Picked on by other men at the pub?

“Take Vivian with you.” Gran swept her hand toward the door, as if directing a servant.

Both Vivian and her father looked at Gran with surprise.

“Absolutely not.” Father scoffed at such a ridiculous suggestion. “I refuse to expose the girl to such riffraff!”

“That girl is an adult woman!” Gran retorted. “And keeping her isolated from the world is not the way for her to live. It will suffocate her, and she will get more and more miserable as the years tick by.”

“You make me sound like a recluse.” Vivian clenched a hand into a fist upon her hip. “I do leave the house. I often go for walks, or to museums. And I see Anne at least once a week for tea.”

“Go with your father.” Gran snuffed out the cigarette in a way that told Vivian the discussion was over.

Knowing there was no use in arguing, Vivian turned to the duke for his final decision.

Father grumbled, also knowing it was fruitless. “Hurry and get dressed quickly, then,” he said. “And remember, we will only be there for a short moment! We are not there to partake.”

Vivian hurried into her bedroom. Knowing the household would be fully awake with the news her brother was in trouble with a pub, she rang her lady’s maid and dressed as quickly as possible, choosing a boring, wool dress and a fur hat and matching coat.

*

Sometime later, they arrived at a pub called The Harp & Thistle. The street was dark and narrow, and the buildings looked tired. The pub’s windows were small, but Vivian could see it was crowded even at this late hour. The loud crowd and banging of piano keys rang out into the night, just as she’d imagined.

Yet what energy it exuded!

“Wait here one moment.” Father moved to exit the carriage. “You do not belong in there and will only invite trouble. A lady of the aristocracy would be very out of her element.”

“Father, I’m a twenty-nine-year-old spinster,” Vivian said with little amusement. She was far from the beautiful aristocrat he was trying to make her out to be. That being said, Vivian did not want to cause trouble, so she agreed to stay safe inside the carriage.

Satisfied enough with her reply, Father climbed out when the driver opened the door and went inside the pub.

The minutes ticked by and gentle snores started coming from the driver. Still, Father and Bernard did not reappear. Vivian decided it best to let the man slumber, as they had roused him in the middle of the night. Recalling they were without a footman to keep the servants’ gossip minimal, Vivian climbed out of the carriage despite Father’s warning, prepared to rush back at the first sight of her family. Standing on her tiptoes, she was just able to peer through the pub’s windows. Inside, people packed together tightly. Mostly men, but there were some women patrons too, which was surprising. She’d had no idea women went to pubs!

Vivian went over to the door that led inside. There was a poster on the door with photographs of two pugilists posed with their fists raised in front of them. In large, block letters, it read, “Bare-Knuckle Fighting,” then “McNab vs. Burke” beneath that.

Vivian studied the two men. Both were bare-chested and wore light-colored, tight boxing shorts. They looked quite imposing with their scowls. The man on the left, whom she assumed was McNab, as his photo was under the name, held her attention. The photograph was small, but she was taken in by the sheer size of his muscles. His biceps and shoulders were rounded and large, and there was something frightening about him overall. His hair was darker and longer than Burke’s, and he had hair on his chest and unfashionable stubble as well. And there was a determined glint in his eye—wild, untamed.

Curiously, there also seemed to be something on his face.

Vivian leaned in closer to get a better look. But before she could, the door flew open, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Oh!” She jumped back as a man flew out the door and tumbled to the ground. As she had done earlier at home, she retreated into shadows, where the gas streetlamps did not reach.

The discarded man unleashed a string of crass, slurred curse words in the direction of the door he had just exited. Vivian assumed it was a general anger at being kicked out, until an imposing figure stepped forward.

“I’ve given you chances before, Murph.” The man’s voice was deep, and it gave her goosebumps. She’d expected a strong Cockney accent from the man, but, surprisingly, it was hardly there. In fact, he could have blended in quite well amongst her peers if they didn’t listen too closely. How curious. “You throw a punch, I warn you. You try to rip me off, I warn you. But grabbing an unwilling woman? I don’t tolerate that. No second chances for that.”

Murph was somehow able to get to his feet and swayed as he tried to focus on the large figure. His face and limbs were thin, but he had a perfectly round stomach, a hint toward adoration for drink. “Aw, come on, McNab. She was only pretending she didn’t like it—you know how women are. That’s all it was.”

“The woman told you to back off. You didn’t.”

Murph laughed. “They never know what they want. Trust me—she wanted me.”

McNab grabbed Murph by the front of his shirt, lifting him up to stare him directly in the eye. The drunk man’s feet dangled helplessly, and he whimpered with fear.

“I don’t know how to make this more clear to you,” McNab seemed to growl. “You’re done and you’re not welcome back. Ever. If you show your face, I’ll rip you apart and throw you into the Thames, piece by piece.”

Vivian swallowed and was quite glad to not be in Murph’s place.

“All right!” Murph squeaked. “All right. Fine. Point taken. Let me go.”

McNab let the man go and he crumpled to the ground, found his footing, and ran off like a dog with its tail between its legs.

McNab watched to ensure the man was truly gone, then let his shoulders fall with a sigh. He ran his hands through his hair with frustration.

Vivian couldn’t help but watch with a strange interest. Beneath his shirt, which clung to him with sweat, the muscles of his arms and back moved in interesting ways.

Was this the same man who was on the poster? It had to be. He was even larger and more imposing than the photograph let on.

McNab headed back to the door, returning to the same shadows that shrouded Vivian. Unfortunately, she didn’t get a good look at the front of his face, and she found herself wondering if he was handsome. Once he was inside, she would study the poster a bit closer to satisfy her curiosity.

McNab went to reach out to grasp the door handle when he paused.

And looked in her direction.

“Hello?” The tenor of his voice was cautious.

Vivian took several steps back, remaining as quiet as a mouse.

McNab headed in her direction, causing her heart to race. She could now only see the outline of his imposing form and it frightened her, as she was within his arm’s reach.

“Are you all right?” McNab stopped walking.

“I—I’m sorry. Yes. I was standing here when you came outside, and I didn’t want to be a bother while you were dealing with something.” Her voice shook.

McNab took a few steps back to give her space. “I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.” There was a long pause as he looked her over. “Who are you?”

Vivian’s family, of course, was well known to everyone. It would be unwise to tell him who she was. “No one of consequence, sir.”

“Are you waiting for someone in the pub?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

Oh, now she would have to give herself away. Blast! She swallowed and used her brother’s given name to be safe. “Bernard Winthrop.”

The man seemed to still. “Are you the marchioness?”

So he did know who Bernard was, and this made her far more nervous. “As I said, I am no one of consequence.”

A cold, autumn breeze kicked up, and the brown leaves strewn along the sidewalk began to spin and dance. The air between them felt strange and heavy, almost electric.

“Winthrop’s father is inside gathering him,” McNab said after a moment, and the outline of his head turned toward the door. “Looks like they’re coming out now.”

The pub’s door opened and the sudden wall of noise from its patrons dissipated the strange air between them.

Bernard stumbled out, followed by their father, and came to a halt when McNab appeared in his line of sight.

McNab, whose back was now to Vivian, returned to the lamplight to approach the pair.

Vivian considered staying in the shadows. It wouldn’t look good to follow McNab out of them, but she also couldn’t stay hidden. They would discover her missing from the carriage soon enough.

Feeling nervous, Vivian stepped into the light, too.

“What are you doing here?” Bernard sputtered in her direction, no doubt quite surprised to see his sister. Vivian hid the shock his appearance gave her. Bernard looked a fright. His dark hair was disheveled, and his clothing hung loose, as if he’d recently lost noticeable weight. And he reeked of alcohol. She had last seen her brother only a few weeks prior and he’d looked well enough then. Like Vivian, he towered over their short father, as they both had taken after Gran, whereas Father had taken after their grandfather. Yet in the moment, Vivian was sure Father could knock Bernard over with a mere puff of air.

Father started upon seeing her as well and shot her a narrow-eyed look. But when a loud snore rang out from their driver, Father thankfully suppressed his comments.

Instead, he turned to McNab.

“I apologize again.” Father had to crane his neck to speak to the tall man. “My son knows better than to leave the house without his billfold.”

Vivian shot a look over to Bernard. That was what all of this was about? She almost asked what he’d been doing at a ragged, working-class pub in the first place but didn’t want to offend McNab.

“Paying up the tab for tonight is all that’s needed for now,” McNab replied cryptically.

Bernard’s face twisted into a grimace, and Vivian wondered if there was more going on here being hidden from Father.

But it also was none of her business. Nor was it her place to say anything.

“Into the carriage, you two.” Father made a shooing motion to his adult children. “The hour is late, and I would like to return to bed. I am also not going to ask why you were in the shadows with him .” Father directed this question to Vivian with lifted eyebrows.

But before Vivian could respond—though she didn’t know how to defend herself, as her behavior had been uncouth— he jumped in.

“I noticed a woman hiding in the shadows.” McNab jutted his chin toward the spot he referred to. “I was simply ensuring she was all right, that’s all.”

Father made no reply, instead bellowing at the driver, who woke up by leaping three feet into the air and floundering down to the carriage door to open it. As she placed her hand on the open door, Vivian looked back over her shoulder, hoping to get a glimpse of McNab before she left his world and returned to hers. Half of him remained concealed by the shadows of night, but she could see wide shoulders taper to a small waist, the angles and planes of his face hard and unyielding. As soon as her eyes met his—a deep, beautiful green—something within her sparked. It was such a strange, strong sensation, she momentarily lost her breath. But there was a funny look in his gaze in response. Embarrassed, she immediately looked down at the ground, taking cover beneath her fur hat.

Oh, but he was indeed handsome. And she allowed herself a private smile.