Page 13 of A Lady’s Guide to Scoundrels and Gentlemen (The Harp & Thistle #1)

“D o you need more water, dear?” Father leaned forward with a furrowed brow. The fresh April air swept at his white hair sticking out from beneath his black top hat. The Winthrops were out for yet another drive through Hyde Park in the landau carriage, the soft top folded down so Vivian received maximum fresh air for her healing lungs.

But before she could tell him no , Anne jumped in. “How are the pillows I grabbed from the house? Are you comfortable?”

In the days after the fire, her family had learned what had happened. However, Vivian hadn’t told them the full truth, as Father would have had a conniption if he knew she had been alone with Dantes in his flat. She’d admitted to being at a fight when the fire had occurred and how she’d been helped out by the pugilist Father had met before. Vivian also suspected Father did not believe the full story by the way he’d looked down his nose after the story had ended. He’d seemed to believe her up until the part where Dantes had helped her escape, after which his frown had deepened severely. Before he could scold her or remind her about proper behavior, she’d hurriedly told him who Dantes’s grandparents were. All Father had said after that was, “Hmm.”

Bernard had found the entire saga riotous.

But Anne had believed her story. Later on, when they’d been alone, Vivian had admitted the truth to her friend. Anne had been utterly tickled Vivian’s life had been saved by a pugilist. Her favorite part was where Dantes had broken down the door to get to her.

Bernard interrupted her thoughts. “Are you warm enough, Vivian?” He tucked the wool blanket wrapped around her even tighter, to where now she couldn’t even move. Only her feather-hatted head stuck out, and she gave him an unamused look.

She wanted them to stop fussing. Please.

“The physician told you to keep up with water intake. It will help with healing,” Father began again. “I have more if you need it.”

But Vivian was having none of it. “If I have one more drop of water, get half a degree warmer, get slightly more comfortable, I will simply explode like that firework!” She said this much sharper than she’d meant to. But it had been days of this fussing, and she could not stand another minute of it.

Her family exchanged hesitating glances with each other, then removed the blanket and pillows around her. Father dropped the discussion about water.

Vivian let out a long sigh of relief, feeling much less restricted. “Thank you.”

“We’re only worried about you, that’s all,” Father said, his gaze dropping to the floor.

She couldn’t help but give him a bit of a smile. “I know, but I’m fine. Really.”

The Winthrops continued the drive in glorious silence and Vivian’s mind began to trail off with the relaxing sway of the landau. In the constant state of inanimation of late, she found her mind often lingered toward the final moments with Dantes before the fire.

That entire night had been quite awful, and she felt terrible for even feeling that way. After all, she’d been able to leave and recover in the comfort of a luxurious Mayfair house, whereas Dantes had no home now, no business, and he had to stay with Victor for the time being.

And between that and the strange encounter they’d had, where she’d told him to essentially leave her alone and never touch her again, she was sure that was the end of their newly formed friendship.

And she found herself melancholy because of it.

But to her abject surprise, Dantes had begun writing letters. First, he’d sent a brief one inquiring after her health. When she’d responded the same day, he’d written another. They’d begun to send chatty letters twice a day. She confided her frustration with her well-meaning, fussing family.

Dantes, meanwhile, kept her updated on the daily happenings of the fallout from the fire.

The McNab fire had hit a soft spot of the residents of London. It was a big city with a small-town heart and anytime a family or a business experienced a tragedy, strangers came out in droves to assist in any way they could. Each day, they came with no expectation of receiving anything in return, refusing any offers the brothers gave because it would be paid forward someday. The brothers refused to accept this as an answer, however, and invited everyone to the upcoming reopening, whenever it was, with the first two rounds on them.

Journalists had even stopped by one morning, and in the evening edition, Vivian had found a photograph of Dantes standing with Victor and Ollie in front of their building, the exterior of which was covered with a tarp. There was also a photograph of Dantes on the second page when he’d been younger, highlighting his boxing career and his narrow escape from death.

She breathed a sigh of relief when there was no mention of a woman being seen with him that evening.

But she’d found herself staring at Dantes’s picture for a long time. And she’d been forced to admit she missed him dearly. A few times, she’d debated stopping by the pub site to see how Dantes was faring with the cleanup, but it hadn’t felt right. The rift between them was too great. And it wasn’t like Dantes had stopped by, or indicated in a letter he wished to see her.

She was not going to act like her chasers.

But she also couldn’t overlook the fact that she missed him, as much as she would have liked to. Thus, two days ago, while writing his second letter of the day, she took a chance and blatantly confessed to missing him. Maybe this could be a nudge toward seeing each other in person.

However, she didn’t receive a reply.

“Oh, look, Vivian!” Bernard pulled her from her watery thoughts. “It’s the Staffords!”

Something unpleasant shot up within Vivian and she tore her attention in the direction of the white landau stopped beside theirs. Seated inside was the Earl of Havenfield and his adult children. The earl’s eldest son, Lord George Stafford, was staring at her.

Vivian turned to look at Bernard with a hard, unblinking stare. Lord Stafford was the man currently blessed with ‘best odds’ of marrying Vivian at the wager book at Brooks’s. The wager book created by Bernard. When her stare did not break, Bernard’s wide grin melted away. And before Lord Stafford could get one word out, Bernard made an excuse to leave and they were off again, leaving Lord Stafford and his family behind in evident bewilderment as they exchanged rapid, wide-eyed glances.

Vivian sharpened her hard stare. “Mrs. Bishop told me about your Brooks’s wager book.”

“Your what ?” Anne exclaimed before Bernard could respond.

“Would you relax?” Bernard hissed back to Anne. “I didn’t put any money in it. I’m only managing it!”

Vivian kicked him, though not as hard as she would have liked. “It’s wagers on who I will end up marrying, Bernard!”

“It’s just a bit of fun, Vivian.” Bernard grimaced as he rubbed his shin. “Don’t take it so personally.”

But before she could respond, Father had something to add. “Now, Bernard, Vivian doesn’t exist to be a source of entertainment for you.”

“Why, thank you, Father.” She pulled her head back with a bit of surprise.

“And on that note,” Father continued. “Lord Stafford? Come now, Bernard. The man is an utter scoundrel, not someone you should want to marry your only sister.”

Vivian’s eyebrows raised high.

Father leaned toward her with a grin. “I pay more attention to people than you give me credit for. Now, why don’t you and Anne ditch the two of us and go shopping? Try getting on your feet again. I’ll have Adamson drop you off at the millinery you like on Grosvenor Street and he’ll come back to fetch you after dropping Bernard and me off at home. That should give you about an hour or so.”

This may have been the first time throwing money at a problem actually helped.

*

Vivian and Anne were admiring spools of hat ribbon when Anne brought up Bernard. “He’s been on his best behavior lately,” she said flatly while petting a spool of pink velvet. “I think hitting rock bottom, then your mishap ”—she whispered this because no one outside of their families knew Vivian had been at the fire. And even among her family, only Anne knew she’d been in Dantes’s home, alone with him—“it might have been the thing to knock some sense into him. He’s even been helping with the children, which is unheard of.”

“That’s wonderful, Anne.” Vivian held out hope for her brother’s marriage. “It sounds like he’s finally turned a new leaf.”

Anne put the spool back in place. “We shall see. He seems to think acting as he always should have been erases everything, however.” She paused, as if weighing whether or not to continue. She decided not to. “Again, we shall see.”

Understanding the conversation was meant to be over, Vivian made her way to the sample hats. Nothing in particular tickled her fancy. It was strange—she was looking at beautiful hats, knew they were beautiful hats, yet nothing inspired her.

Anne gasped, lifting one hat gingerly. It was of pale-blue velvet that rouched on one side, with a large, bow-shaped crystal adornment centered on the rouching. A complicated array of feathers splayed out from behind it. “Vivian, this is the most beautiful hat I’ve ever seen in my life!” As Anne continued to gush over it, the shop owner, who wore a jaunty, black hat resembling a tiny top hat, began to hover nearby.

“It is beautiful,” Vivian agreed. “That blue matches your eyes perfectly.”

“It’s too bad it would take a while to make.” Anne pouted playfully.

The shop owner took the sale opportunity and stepped forward. “I made one recently and the purchaser changed her mind about it. It’s never even been tried on. If I had to guess, your hat size is six, seven-eighths?”

Anne’s pale eyes went wide. “Yes.”

The shopkeeper smiled and excused herself, asking the two women to meet her by the mirrors in the other room. Moments later, she returned and set a hat box down on a chair, lifted the lid, and removed the hat to tie upon Anne’s head.

“Anne, that hat is stunning on you,” Vivian said with admiration. “Your coloring is so fair, I would normally pick a darker color because of that, but my goodness, it’s as if you and the hat were made for each other.”

Anne laughed and admired herself in the mirror, turning side to side numerous times, her eyes twinkling at her reflection. She met Vivian’s gaze in the mirror. “I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. How silly am I?”

“Not silly at all. I know the exact feeling. It’s a good one to have.” Vivian watched as Anne continued to stare at herself, almost with wonder, and for the first time in many years smiled so genuinely, it reached her eyes. It hit Vivian that Anne had been struggling in her marriage, not for months, but for years. In fact, the last time she recalled Anne smiling with such brightness was when her second child had been born and introduced to the family. They never did have any other children after, and that had been five years ago.

As the milliner untied and removed the hat, she informed Anne of the price. Anne’s face immediately fell. “Perhaps another time,” Anne said forcefully with a pained smile following. “It is a beautiful hat, though.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” The milliner gave a small curtsy then walked out of the room with the hat now snug in its hat box.

Anne’s face twisted with disappointment. “Would you mind giving me a moment?”

“Of course not.” Vivian gave Anne a kiss on her cheek and left without a word. Out in the main shop area, Vivian searched the bustling room for a woman with a jaunty little top hat and found it a moment later. The milliner had a large, flat box out to show a customer different types of feathers.

“Excuse me,” Vivian said once she’d caught the milliner’s attention.

The woman smiled, her eyes crinkling with the movement. “Lady Vivian, may I help you with something?”

“The blue hat Lady Litchfield tried on. Could you put it on my account?”

The milliner bowed her head. “Of course.”

Vivian bit her lip. “And also, if she asks about the box when I collect it before departing, could we tell her it contains a hat I ordered weeks ago?”

“A gift,” the milliner replied, holding up a finger. “I will follow your direction if she asks.”

After thanking the milliner, Vivian toured the room and eventually stopped at a round table in the middle of the floor where numerous kid gloves were laid out. She lifted a pair in pale pink, set them back down, and as she did this, made eye contact with the woman on the other side of the table. They both paled at the same time—it was the blonde woman who’d been with Mr. Crosby at the queen’s birthday ball. His sister, Miss Eleanor Crosby. No, that wasn’t right. She’d married a few years ago, if Vivian remembered correctly. Wasn’t she Mrs. Corbin Gifford now? Either way, Mrs. Gifford clearly knew who Vivian was. But was it because her brother was trying to woo Vivian into marriage, or did she know about Vivian and Dantes?

What were they, anyway?

Before either of them could say anything or rush away, though, Mr. Crosby appeared at his sister’s side and asked her to pick between two pairs of gloves. Apparently realizing his sister was distracted by something, he looked over to see what had caught her attention and finally noticed Vivian. Mr. Crosby looked almost as surprised as his sister and hid the gloves behind his back.

“Lady Vivian!” Mr. Crosby said with forced enthusiasm. “What an unexpected surprise. Your butler told me you were feeling unwell and wouldn’t have visitors for quite some time.”

Blast, she would do anything to be able to disappear right now. “Yes, Mr. Crosby, that’s correct. But as you can see, I’m feeling much better already.” She forced the enthusiasm right back to him.

He smiled. “I apologize for my overt surprise upon seeing you. I’m afraid you caught my sister and I searching for a get-well-soon gift for you.” He held up the gloves with a boyish guilt. Mrs. Gifford, meanwhile, turned to give him a wide-eyed look of astonishment.

Vivian responded with polite laughter and cleared her throat at the feel of an alarming tickle. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Crosby, though I appreciate the thought.”

“It’s nothing. Truly. I shall bring your gift by tomorrow, if you’re accepting visitors again.”

Vivian paused, unsure how to respond. Before she could say anything, however, a rather severe coughing fit threatened to rise. She tried choking it back, but it forced itself out so violently, she had to steady herself against the side of the round table. The aching in her already sore ribs meant she couldn’t look up to see the faces of alarm on every shopper in the store, though truly that was a blessing in disguise.

“Hay fever,” she squeaked as the shop owner rushed over. Vivian, still coughing deeply, stumbled her way over to the mirror room, the shop owner guiding her along and into a chair. As Vivian took in a gasping, wheezy breath before coughing severely again, she overheard Mrs. Gifford say from the other room, “Oh, do give it up, Thomas.”

Anne rushed over to crouch at Vivian’s side and with a gentle hand, patted her back. “Are you all right?”

But Vivian couldn’t respond as the hard coughing continued. The shop owner reappeared with a glass of water and Vivian gulped it down. Immediately, the coughing subsided and she felt better.

“Perhaps we should get you home after this,” Anne said, her brow furrowed.

Vivian wholeheartedly agreed. “Good idea.”

The shop owner took the glass back. “I’ll gather up your purchase then, Lady Vivian.”

Anne blinked at Vivian. “You bought something?”

“It’s a beautiful hat she ordered several weeks ago.” The milliner then shot a private wink to Vivian as she left the room.

“My ribs are in agony.” Vivian sunk back in her chair. “I wonder if lungs can bruise. It sure feels like it.”

“Should you call on the physician on your way home?”

But Vivian shook her head. “That’s not necessary. Just give me a moment to gather my bearings and we can leave.” She closed her eyes. Her heart rate had shot up alarmingly, but the dry itch in her lungs was beginning to subside, and her heart calmed along with it.

Until she heard a new voice. “Smoke inhalation, by chance?”

Vivian’s eyes flew open to see Mrs. Gifford walk into the room.

Panic slammed into Vivian. Did Mrs. Gifford know Vivian had been at the fire? Oh, she must have known. Why else would she say that? This was bad. Very bad.

But how would Mrs. Gifford have found out?

Dantes must have told her.

A sick feeling snaked through Vivian. Dantes must have lied and was still secretly involved with Mrs. Gifford. The woman did have children of her own, including a son. Though rare, it wasn’t unheard of for some wives in the nobility to be allowed attention outside of marriage once an heir was provided. Dantes had history with her. Had Mrs. Gifford approached him about rekindling their past with her husband’s blessing?

Dantes was a scoundrel, and that was definitely something a scoundrel would get involved in.

But, upon a closer look, Mrs. Gifford wore a humored expression. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

Anne was watching Vivian, but Vivian ignored her, not wanting to give away the true discomfort she felt in the moment. “I’m assuming you know what that means,” Vivian began. “If you’re saying that.”

Mrs. Gifford laughed, but it wasn’t malicious. “I knew the moment you began coughing.”

“Rather humiliating.”

Mrs. Gifford took the chair next to Vivian, and Anne said something about grabbing Vivian’s purchase and meeting her out front, then hurried away.

“If anyone should be humiliated, it should be Thomas. We are here to find birthday gifts for our mother, not to buy gifts for you. No offense.” Mrs. Gifford smiled widely.

Vivian surprised herself by smiling back. “I find that rather amusing. Poor Mr. Crosby, exposed by his own sister.”

The two women laughed together, but a heavy silence soon fell between them.

Mrs. Gifford spoke first after briefly hesitating. “I’m sure you will be unsurprised to know that people are whispering over your relationship with Mr. Edmond McNab. I had also seen you together as well at the queen’s birthday ball, and later at the National Gallery.” She gave space for Vivian to jump in but continued when she didn’t. “I’m assuming you know by now Edmond and I were once engaged.”

“Yes.” Vivian was cautious, expecting a secret affair to be divulged.

“Has he told you anything about that?”

“No, he hasn’t. Why?” She forced the awful words out. “Are you still in love with him?”

But Mrs. Gifford merely chuckled at this. “Not at all. It was ages ago, and I’m mad for my husband.”

“You’re not still—” Vivian shifted, realizing she couldn’t ask about an affair outright. “Is he still in love with you?” She prepared herself to hear something she didn’t want to.

But why did she care in the first place? Dantes was only a friend.

“Goodness, no.” Mrs. Gifford said this quite seriously. “We haven’t even crossed paths since I broke off the engagement. He stopped going to society events after that.”

“Why did you end it?” Unfortunately, the fact Dantes had not been the one to break off their engagement did not make Vivian feel any better. Despite Mrs. Gifford’s reassurance, Vivian couldn’t help but wonder if Dantes remained in love with her.

Mrs. Gifford looked down at her gloved hands, clearly weighing what to say. “My family didn’t like him.”

Knowing Dantes’s background, and what she knew about his so-called friendship with Mr. Crosby, Vivian wasn’t in the least surprised by that.

“He’s a good man.” Mrs. Gifford gave her a small smile. “He’s rough around the edges—or at least he was. I imagine that didn’t change.”

“No.”

“I will say, both times I saw the two of you together, I was thrilled.”

Confused, Vivian asked why.

“Well, because it’s obvious you’re happy together, and I’ve always hoped he would one day find his perfect match.”

Now Vivian understood. She laughed. “Oh, no. You’ve got it all wrong. It’s not what you think. He’s a mere friend, and nothing more.”

“Well, a good enough friend you were in his flat the night of the fire,” she teased. Vivian felt the blood drain from her face and Mrs. Gifford gave her a knowing look. “You are not very convincing, Lady Vivian.”

Vivian let out a sigh. She hadn’t explained that well at all.

“Anyway, I came over to talk to you, to tell you something about him.” Mrs. Gifford’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Even though he made the effort to propose all those years ago, he never once told me he loved me. I think he did, but he never said it.”

“That’s odd. Why not?”

“He refused to explain it to me, but I think he plain fears it. He lost his parents at such a young age, and I know his grandparents sending him away hurt him. I don’t think he knows how to even say the words, either. I doubt those three brothers exchange them. It’s harder for men to state their feelings. They have no issue showing it.” She let out a small laugh. “But saying it? That’s entirely different.”

Vivian considered this, thought about her unanswered letter in which she’d confessed to missing him, and felt a rush of embarrassment and regret.

A group of young women came giggling into the room and began to gossip. “Anyway,” Mrs. Gifford began again. “You need to get home and get better. But remember what I told you. It may come in handy someday.”

They stood at the same time. “Why are you telling me all of this?” Vivian asked. Growing up, she and Mrs. Gifford had been rather distant acquaintances. They had never really known each other, so there was no loyalty between the two.

Mrs. Gifford considered this for a moment. “Guilt,” she finally decided. “You need to hear the story from Edmond when he’s ready, but I still feel incredible guilt over it, and if I can do my part to ensure he does find his happiness, I want to do that.” She began to turn to leave, but Vivian was desperate to get this woman to understand she was wrong, that there was absolutely nothing between her and Dantes. Not in the way she thought, anyway. But who was Vivian really trying to convince: Mrs. Gifford, or herself?

She decided to shove that question far, far away.

“Wait,” Vivian called after her. Mrs. Gifford turned back. “You don’t understand. This is going to sound ridiculous, but he’s helping me find a husband. Ever since my inheritance…” She trailed off before shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m seeking a true gentleman, one who doesn’t go to brothels, doesn’t have a mistress, doesn’t have addictions. They’re unfortunately difficult to find, and he knows these things about gentlemen.”

Mrs. Gifford forced back a smile. “Well, Lady Vivian, I look forward to reading your wedding announcement in a few months, then.” And with that, she turned and left.

Vivian gave her time to leave the shop with Mr. Crosby before meeting Anne out front as planned. As she climbed into the carriage and sat beside Anne, it was clear Anne hadn’t looked inside the box. Thus, once they’d arrived at Anne’s house to be dropped off, Vivian let her climb out before handing over the box and shutting the door before Anne could react. The carriage went off, and Vivian watched out the back window with a laugh as Anne remained in place, a deep frown on her face.