Page 6 of A Lady’s Guide to Scoundrels and Gentlemen (The Harp & Thistle #1)

A nne rushed into her entryway to greet Vivian, looking rather flustered. Several times a month, Vivian and Anne had afternoon tea together, and today was one of those afternoons. But usually, Anne was in better humor.

“I’m so sorry, Vivian.” Anne gripped both of Vivian’s arms as if she were about to share tragic news. “But your father is here talking to Bernard and I think Bernard told him everything. And to make it even worse, the queen is here for tea, too.”

Vivian gasped with horror. She had not seen that woman since the public snubbing all those years ago and was not expecting to see her before the ball this upcoming weekend. “Please tell me you are joking,” Vivian whispered.

But Anne shook her head with a forlorn expression.

“Oh, blast.” Vivian wrung her hands. “I cannot believe she had an invitation sent to me for the ball this weekend. All those years of ignoring me, but now I’m in the newspapers, it’s suddenly fine to have me around?”

“I know,” Anne agreed on a whisper. “It doesn’t make sense to me either.”

Vivian sighed. “So, what, she just showed up here?”

Anne glanced back over her shoulder briefly. “Yes. She does that sometimes. Bernard fawns over her and you know how she is. She loves being fawned over, thus she loves Bernard.”

“He does that even happen after what she did to me?”

Anne shifted with discomfort, not happy to be in the middle of this.

Somewhere in the depths of the house were the squeals and laughter of children. “That’s all right, Anne,” Vivian promised. “I’m sure it will be fine. She isn’t the first one to suddenly remember I exist, and she’ll probably be on her best behavior because of it. But she terrifies me, Anne! Always in black, with that forlorn face, no hint of humor anywhere.”

Anne pressed her lips together in a tight line before continuing. “You know, when I’m forced to be around someone who makes me want to curl up in a corner, I think of something about them to remind me they’re more human than they let on.”

Vivian tried to search her memory for anything about the queen that cracked her terrifying shell. But the queen was known for keeping people at a distance, never letting anyone get too close to her. “I can’t think of anything,” Vivian said with defeat.

“How about this? Did you know she used to keep saucy diaries?”

Vivian blinked. “I beg your pardon? What do you mean, saucy diaries?”

“The queen used to write detailed diary entries about her and Prince Albert. You know…” Anne leaned forward. “Being together .”

Vivian frowned deeply. This was ridiculous. “I’ve never heard of that before. I don’t believe you.”

Anne’s pale eyes went wide. “Apparently, she wrote several pages about their wedding night. She would also write entries about how he looked after getting caught in the rain. You know, his shirt sticking to him and all that.”

Vivian gasped. Queen Victoria had written that?

“And—apparently, Prince Albert once gifted her a marble statue of himself as a fully nude Greek warrior. She had it displayed at the palace, but people were so shocked by it, she had it removed. No one knows where it went, but rumor is she moved it to her private quarters at the Isle of Wight house.”

Vivian tried to place this saucy diary in the hands of the stoic queen she knew, let out a little shriek, and slapped her hand to her mouth to keep any more noises from escaping. When she was able to control herself, she asked, “How in the blazes do you know this, Anne? I’m sure you’re making this up to mess with me.”

“I swear I am not! It’s one of those widely known secrets. I’m not sure how it got out all those years ago, but there’s too much detail for it to be false.”

More tiny squeals of laughter grabbed the women’s attention and as Vivian looked down the hallway, she spotted Bernard stepping out of a room with a child hanging from each arm. Her father exited the room as well but began heading toward the two women. Bernard roared out like a monster and stomped dramatically across the hall to another room, causing more shrieks of joy.

“Is Bernard playing? With the children?” Vivian was shocked. Never had she seen him do such a thing before, always worrying about getting dirty.

Anne wrung her hands. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

“Isn’t that a lovely change!”

But Anne didn’t respond to this comment as Vivian’s father stopped before them. He kissed Vivian on the cheek and immediately turned to Anne.

Father cleared his throat in preparation. Oh, dear. “Anne, I had a talk with Bernard and he told me about…” He glanced sideways at Vivian for a moment. “About his problems.”

Both Vivian and Anne stared back in silence.

“Now, I know Bernard can get a little wrapped up in his…problems. And I know you’re not happy with it. I suggested he spend the day at home with his family. And I may have suggested flowers, or something, so if he goes overboard with that at all, I apologize.”

Anne stiffened. “What, exactly, did he tell you, Your Grace?”

Father glanced over at Vivian again and then covered the side of his mouth with his hand as he whispered, “Gambling.”

Vivian wondered if her father had thrown money at the problem, and if Bernard would make Anne aware of it.

A small light of hope seemed to dim in Anne. “I see. Well, have a good rest of your afternoon, Your Grace.”

Father, evidently unaware of Anne’s change in demeanor, bid the two women goodbye and left.

Anne dragged Vivian into the drawing room, and Vivian immediately spotted the severe-looking Queen Victoria, bedecked in a black hat with the largest ostrich feather Vivian had ever seen in her life. As the queen noted their arrival into the room, she squinted and leaned forward, homing in on Vivian.

“Your Majesty.” Anne forced brightness in her voice as both women curtsied properly, then the marchioness dragged Vivian to her seat. “You remember Lord Litchfield’s sister, Lady Vivian Winthrop.”

The queen’s face pinched together. “Ah, yes, the forgotten girl everyone suddenly wishes to befriend.”

No thanks to you. As Vivian took her seat, she shot a look over to Anne. However, Anne had taken a rather keen interest in pouring tea for everyone.

“I suppose that’s an apt description,” Vivian responded, not knowing what else to say. It was the truth, after all.

“I’ve been around long enough to see it all.” The queen floated a hand through the air. “However, there seems to be a new type of woman emerging I have never before seen and I find it quite dreadful and fear for future generations!”

“What do you mean, Your Majesty?” Vivian thanked Anne for her teacup and saucer as it was handed to her and took a sip.

The queen looked Vivian over. “We shall use you as an example.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve never heard of a woman inheriting an estate. Quite frankly, your grandmother was utterly foolish for leaving everything to you when it should have gone to her grandson. He has a family to look after!”

Vivian merely stared, her cup suspended midair, rendered mute by the sheer irony that the queen had, in fact, inherited the United Kingdom. It took everything in her not to point this out. With haste, she took a sip of the hot tea. Did her entire worth as a human, as a woman, revolve around marriage and motherhood? If she never attained those milestones, would she cease to exist? Obviously not, but that was how it felt. “Your Majesty, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Gran mentioned you in a letter she left me.”

Queen Victoria’s eyes widened slightly. “Did she?”

“Gran wanted me to tell you, oh… What was it she said?” Vivian remembered quite well but took glee in making the queen squirm, if only for a moment, and made a show of it by tapping her chin. “Oh, yes, I recall now. She wanted me to tell you she’s watching you. And added ‘ha ha’ after that.”

The expression on the queen’s face went from curiosity to dread, and she tried to covertly glance about the room, as if Gran’s ghostly form were hiding somewhere.

Vivian was greatly amused and appreciated Gran’s last joke.

The queen, evidently eager to move on, took a sip of her tepid tea before gasping at how hot it was and began to fan at it. “I was telling Lady Litchfield a moment ago how lucky she is to have such a doting husband. Anytime I’m out for a promenade or a drive through the park, Lord Litchfield makes a point to come chat with me. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing! Horse riding, cricket—he will immediately come to my side and provide the most captivating conversation. The marquess is a lucky woman.” The queen shot a squinty smile to Anne. “As queen, I find it quite disconcerting the number of Americans marrying our gentlemen in these last years. A friend’s American niece lives here now after marrying a destitute earl, and, unlike Lady Litchfield, the girl does not appreciate everything her husband has provided for her.”

“Oh, how lovely for her.” Vivian wondered how, exactly, a destitute earl provided for his presumably wealthy heiress wife and exchanged a look with Anne over the edge of her teacup.

“Yes, it was a good match. Unfortunately, she’s spoiled so rotten by him, she thinks her life is dreadful and has been dabbling in that ridiculous suffrage movement. What folly that all is! She has a bee in her bonnet about women voting, which is utter nonsense. That’s what I mean about this new type of woman. Women have so much to worry about as it is. Now some are going on to university and taking men’s jobs away from them, becoming physicians and solicitors themselves and adding on that stress. And on top of that, voting?” The queen tsked . “It’s nice for wives to unload work and dreadful politics onto the husbands. Lady Litchfield, for example, needn’t worry about anything ever in her life. I know when her husband votes, he has his wife’s best interest at heart. He is a lovely gentleman who takes care of his family.”

Anne began to cough, hastily setting her teacup down, lest it spill.

“What about women like myself?” Vivian pulled the queen’s attention back. “Unmarried women? Who is looking out for us?” Granted, Vivian would be marrying in the future, but that wasn’t the point.

The queen gave her a tight, condescending grin and leaned forward to pat Vivian’s knee. “No offense, but women like yourself clearly are incapable of making good decisions. A woman who doesn’t follow the natural call of loving a gentleman and creating children is the least trustworthy type of person—and frankly has no business deciding laws.”

Ire rose inside her and Vivian recalled Anne’s advice, remembering that this frightening, stoic queen who only wore black had saucy diaries.

Vivian imagined the queen as a young woman, giggling and blushing as she daydreamed about her husband.

Something very human, and very relatable.

Surprisingly, it helped.

As Vivian wasn’t one to create a fuss and disliked confrontation, she appreciated being able to stuff the ire back down and resume a pleasant demeanor.

But apparently, Anne felt otherwise. “I disagree,” Anne suddenly jumped in, to Vivian’s abject surprise. “I agree with your friend’s niece that women should be able to vote. And quite frankly, I’m glad the suffrage movement has begun to gain steam in our country. Perhaps divorce will become easier for women to attain as well.” She took a sip of her tea, looking quite pleased with herself.

The queen gasped loudly, placing a gloved hand over her heart. She quickly regained her composure, however, and forced a pleasant face. “Well. Isn’t this tea lovely, dear?” She took another sip of tea as well, her back straightening severely.

Anne narrowed her eyes before returning her attention to Vivian. “Are you still going to the queen’s first birthday ball of the season this weekend?”

“Yes, and, in fact, I’m being escorted by Mr. Edmond McNab, the one who…well, you know. Knows Bernard.” She turned her attention to the queen. “Of course, if that’s all right with you.”

The queen replied, “Edmond McNab? Who is that?” Queen Victoria frowned as she searched her memory. “Ah, yes. I recall now. One of the Scots families. A duke. I do like the Scots.”

Vivian and Anne exchanged looks of surprise. Surely, the queen was mistaking Dantes for someone else. “A duke?” Vivian wondered how much the queen would divulge.

“The Duke of Invermark. His only child, only son at that, was a bit of a rogue. Wanted nothing to do with the dukedom. Took money from his parents, ran off to London, and invested in a railway business. It was quite the scandal at the time.”

“Is he still alive?” Vivian knew Dantes’s father was long gone, but she still wasn’t convinced this was the same family.

“I have no knowledge of his whereabouts. He hasn’t been my concern for over thirty years.” The queen paused in thought. “I suppose if you wish those McNabs to be present, I can add them to the list. Too many Americans these days—we could use more Scots. Perhaps they will return to the rightful place within our kingdom and mend the duke and duchess’s shattered hearts.” She then waved her hand to indicate she was dismissing any further discussion on the subject.

Vivian was trying to remain calm with this revelation. So Dantes was the grandson of a duke.

Anne remained interested in Vivian’s little tidbit about Dantes. “I didn’t realize you had any interest in Mr. McNab. Or anyone, for that matter?”

Vivian laughed, feeling a bit lightheaded from the news. What had given Anne such a silly idea? “Oh, it’s nothing like that. I simply don’t have anyone else to accompany me and when I met him…that one evening…we got along well enough. He is easy to converse with, and nothing more.” An image of him knocking out Mr. Sullivan, all raw strength and flexing muscles, flashed in her memory. She shifted in her seat.

Anne gave her a side-eyed look. “You are a terrible liar.”

“Honest. It’s nothing more. There is absolutely zero interest there. For either of us.” One day, Vivian might tell Anne Dantes had helped her find her a husband for repayment of Bernard’s debt. But now was not the time.

“How many dances are you hoping from him? All of them, perhaps?” Anne fluttered her lashes.

Vivian gasped. “You are terrible, Anne! No, of course not. I doubt I’ll be doing much dancing, either. I’m far too old for that now.”

Queen Victoria perked up, her eyes bright and merry. “Lady Vivian, am I understanding correctly, you are seeking a gentleman to marry? We could use more English brides!”

Vivian stammered. “But my grandmother—”

“Your mother was fully English and your father is half. You grew up here. Never mind that.” With another hand wave, the queen dismissed this monumental moment as if she were deciding against a second helping of biscuits. “I am famous for my matchmaking abilities. So many lovely couples have been introduced by me. In fact”—she practically vibrated with excitement—“I already have several gentlemen in mind for you. I’ll be sure to send them your way at the ball this weekend.”

Vivian gripped her teacup so tightly, she was sure it would shatter.

*

Dantes got five solid jabs in to the punching bag. He bounced on his feet, light as a feather. Sweat poured over him; his hair hung in his face.

He could do this all day.

Taking a deep breath, he readied again, focused on the worn leather bag, ignoring the large, empty basement room that surrounded him. Somewhere behind him was the fighting ring.

He circled the punching bag, then blitzed it with more heavy hits. His breathing was labored, his muscles tired. As he continued his dance around the bag, he fell into a calm trance, thinking about how sore he felt in such a short time. Only a few years ago, he would have been hours away from this level of soreness.

Frankly, that worried him.

Dantes made sure to keep up with training, made sure to keep as healthy as he could. But he wasn’t getting any younger, and no one could outrun passing time.

Dread filled him like a warning sign alongside a road, but he tried his best to ignore it.

The swinging bag stilled between his hands and he took a moment to breathe before starting again. More sweat, more hits, until he thought he was going to collapse.

“Dantes? Are you down here?” Ollie’s voice called out.

Dantes stopped, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm as he took in deep, restorative breaths. “Over here,” he replied loudly so Ollie could follow his voice.

Ollie appeared a moment later carrying boxing gloves. He eyed Dantes’s bare hands. “You’re using gloves, right? I’m not sparing with you and getting a black eye like that one time.”

Dantes angled over to the ring where his water sat, then chugged it all down. “Yes, of course. We don’t want to mess with your pretty face.”

“Go ahead and laugh. But I don’t think you’d be happy with me going to a ball with you while having a bruised face.”

They both climbed into the ring, Dantes grabbing gloves he had tossed to a corner earlier. He slipped them on, hitting his fists together. “Don’t tempt me. It would be nice to not be the one catching whispers.”

The brothers met in the middle of the ring, their gloved fists raised. Dantes used to train with Victor, but that stopped several years ago when Dantes had gotten an especially hard hit to Victor’s jaw and Victor’s response had been, “I’m too old for this rubbish,” before throwing down his gloves and storming back up to the pub. Dantes hadn’t been challenged like that since. Ollie’s strengths didn’t lie in fighting, but he was also the only person who would spar with Dantes. And it was only because he didn’t have a choice.

They began to circle each other and Ollie threw out the first punch. Dantes blocked it with ease, dodged the next one, and got a solid connection to Ollie’s ribs. Ollie swore out loud but quickly regained himself. For a long while, they continued their circling, their uppercuts, right hooks, left hooks. Dantes held back his strength, while Ollie held back his mouth.

As their sparring continued, Dantes’s mind trailed to Lady Vivian. He often found himself wondering what she did at any given time. While he cleaned pint glasses, was she drinking tea? While he swept the floor, was she writing letters? What she did in her day-to-day life, he found himself curious over. What did Lady Vivian Winthrop do each day? How did her elegant life differ from his own?

A solid hit to his stomach pulled his mind out of the clouds and knocked him to the floor, gasping for air.

Ollie let out a loud whoop , pumping a fist into the air. It was the first time Ollie had ever won a fight. “I may have broken my hand, but I finally got you down!” He let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

Maybe Dantes was getting too old for this rubbish now, too.

Ollie sank down next to Dantes, a goofy grin slapped onto his face. He removed his gloves and tossed them to the side. “Wait until Victor hears about this.”

Dantes shot him a withering look.

And Ollie lifted his palms in mock defense. “All right, I know I didn’t truly deserve that win. Your mind was clearly off somewhere else. I wonder where?”

With a groan, Dantes sat up but didn’t respond.

“It’s your turn to clean the loo. Maybe you were thinking about that?”

No response.

“Or, perhaps, your thoughts dwelled upon a certain lady whom you’re escorting to a ball in a few days?”

“No.”

Ollie laughed and set his hands behind him to lean back. “Sure, sure. Now, I was wondering. When was the last time you went to a ball?”

Dantes let out a loud, long sigh.

“Over ten years now, yes?”

Irritated, Dantes began removing his gloves with hard movements. “Yes, you are already aware of that, though. What point are you trying to make, Ollie?”

“You’re mere days away from taking Lady Vivian Winthrop to Queen Victoria’s first seventieth birthday ball, where several hundred people will be attending.”

Dantes stiffened as he set the gloves down.

“Ah, I see you haven’t considered the fact that you will have to dance for the first time in twelve years in front of Europe’s snobbiest set, with the woman newspapers obsessed over. Everyone will be watching you. And her.”

Dantes swore. He should never have agreed to this.

“Come on, then. Up on your feet.” Ollie hopped up.

Dantes stood, too, and Ollie stepped forward with an expectant look on his face.

“What the blazes are you doing?” Dantes growled out, disliking how Ollie stood practically in his face.

“You need to practice dancing.” Ollie took Dantes’s hand in his.

Dantes ripped it away. “Have you gone mad? I’m not dancing with you!”

Ollie shrugged. “All right. Good luck on Saturday, then.”

Dantes watched as his brother started walking away. He ground his teeth, realizing Ollie was right. He had no business being in a ballroom after all this time, and he would be expected to dance. But it had been so long, he wouldn’t remember how to. He couldn’t simply dive in unprepared, either. He was supposed to help Vivian, not make everything worse. “Fine,” he said simply.

Ollie spun back around. “Smart move. Unlike you, I still attend those fancy balls a few times a year.”

“Which is precisely why you agreed to go with me.”

His brother nodded. “Trust me when I say you don’t want to be the lad who trips in front of everyone. You especially don’t want that for Lady Vivian.”

Ollie had a good point, as much as Dantes hated to admit it. “What are you suggesting, then?”

“We practice a bit every day. We can practice a waltz now, a quadrille tomorrow—keep at it until you know what you’re doing again. Polkas are strictly forbidden; it shows too much leg, apparently, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“I have to dance with you is what you’re saying.”

Ollie’s mouth twisted into an obnoxious grin. “Well, yes, you can’t really spin out your punching bag.”

A flash of a memory arose, one of him in a garden. He and Eleanor were hiding from the rest of the guests. She giggled and looked up at him with clear, blue eyes, and in turn, he slowly spun her to the music. Dantes frowned deeply at the memory.

“Come on.” Ollie waved Dantes toward himself. “Pretend I’m Lady Vivian. Take my right hand with your left.” Ollie made Dantes hold his hand. “Now put your right hand on my back.”

“I swear to God, if you tell anyone about this—”

“I’m not exactly eager for the world to know I dance with my smelly, sweaty brother in my spare time, either.”

Dantes hesitated a bit before taking the proper stance, holding Ollie’s giant hand in his and putting his own hand on Ollie’s rigid back. “You couldn’t play a duke’s daughter if it saved your life.”

Ollie laughed loudly at this but kept his attention on the task at hand. “Ready? Now left foot steps forward.”

Dantes stepped forward, leading Ollie back.

“Now right foot to the side.”

Dantes followed Ollie’s directions, stumbling a few times, but as the minutes passed, he eased back into it, and eventually, it was like he had never stopped dancing and he no longer had to think too much about it.

He spun Ollie out, then brought him back in.

“ Oh, Dantes .” Ollie used a false, high-pitched voice, fluttering his eyelashes. “You’re so handsome. Can you please dance with me all night long?”

Dantes responded with a few choice words, though he couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

And then someone coughed to get their attention.

Dantes and Ollie froze in mid-step.

“If this is how you’ve been training for the last few years, Dantes, it’s a wonder you win every match.” Victor’s dark, disdainful voice cut into the silence.

Dantes and Ollie stepped away from each other and turned to find Victor standing outside of the ring, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, a severe scowl chiseled into his face.

“I was helping him ready for Saturday,” Ollie explained.

“I know what you were doing,” Victor replied. “And I’m glad you two are going out for a grand time, leaving the Saturday crowd up to me.”

“You said you found extra help.”

Victor ignored this, let his arms drop, and began walking toward the stairs. “Stop faffing about and come upstairs. The night crowd is already trickling in.”

Dantes watched Victor ascend the stairs and disappear. It didn’t escape him the heir to the dukedom also refused to have anything to do with it. Someday, Victor’s world would come crashing down around him and Dantes and Ollie would be helpless to do anything.