Page 27 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)

Viv considered attending to her unread correspondence in the Wynchesters’ sitting room but decided Jacob deserved more space than that. After the heated words they’d exchanged, she didn’t want him to feel as though he couldn’t reenter his own home out of fear she’d be there ready to pounce.

Especially since her hope had been to lure him out of the loneliness of his barn, not force him deeper into solitude.

She, too, spent most of her time alone with her projects.

While she wouldn’t trade her passions for anything, she sometimes longed for someone who understood her.

Quentin could barely manage to post parcels properly and wasn’t at all interested in Viv’s writing process or her thoughts about the publishing industry.

Perhaps the Wynchester siblings were different.

Or perhaps they were just as indifferent to Jacob’s passions in their own way. Too busy to have time for their own brother. Maybe he was just as exotic and incomprehensible to them as a Highland tiger or an antbear.

Which… was apparently how Quentin felt with Viv. That she didn’t understand him. That she didn’t take him seriously. That he would have to disappear off the face of the earth for her to pause and question her assumptions.

Viv’s future relationship with her cousin depended on how well she took advantage of the opportunity to get to know all of the Wynchesters, not just Jacob. Time was running out. She had to make the most of it.

If she failed, she might never see them or Quentin ever again.

“Begin with the one whose own siblings admit she’s been hiding secrets,” Viv murmured aloud. She would check each Wynchester off her list one by one, and comply with Quentin’s wishes this very day.

She made her way to Charlotte Street, where Marjorie and Adrian’s art studio was located.

When Viv arrived on the premises without an appointment, she expected to be barred at the door. She was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a friendly sign inviting visitors to come upstairs to observe art in the making.

Annoyance rankled beneath her skin. They couldn’t find Quentin—whom Viv suspected was right here in London—but these two had time to flit about with their little art projects? Perhaps the wonderful Wynchesters weren’t as benevolent and all-powerful as the adoring public believed.

Even as she had the thought, a small part of Viv railed against it. She wanted to be wrong. She wanted to keep Quentin safe. And she needed him to come home. The Wynchesters were the best chance she had.

Ascending the stairs to the art studio took longer than anticipated.

Every inch of the wall was covered in framed canvases.

The variety of styles, signatures, and skill levels indicated these works were likely created by Marjorie and Adrian’s students.

All were intriguing in their own way, with raw talent emerging from the brushstrokes.

Up in the main hall, however, there was no oil paint being spread onto linen canvases.

Viv’s jaw fell open. Marjorie and Adrian strolled between rows of nine- and ten-year-old pupils, studiously making illegal copies of the key to some poor sap’s home.

Good God. The Wynchesters might get away with such brazen antics, but the average child most certainly could not!

There was no minimum age for gaol—or worse.

“Forgeries?” she spat in disgust. “I cannot believe you’re teaching children to break the law. I should have known scoundrels like you lot would encourage the most impressionable youth to rob their neighbors.”

The entire room stared at her as though she had sprouted a beak and feathers.

Marjorie spoke first. “Er… Is it forgery if they’re copying their own keys for personal use?”

The back of Viv’s neck heated. “They’re duplicating their own keys?”

Twenty little faces nodded, wide-eyed.

“Have you never in your life misplaced an important item?” Adrian asked.

“Um,” said Viv.

“Many of these girls live in families that cannot afford the expense of a locksmith, or the time it would take to find a suitable professional and wait their turn for something so simple,” Marjorie explained.

“Not only are using molds and filing down blanks practical life skills, these girls are helping out their parents, who often must juggle a single house key amongst multiple family members.”

Several students nodded.

Viv and Quentin had run into the same problem when she’d first moved in.

She’d used the entirety of her first month’s pin money to make herself a spare copy of the house key, only for him to continually lose his own amongst the abandoned projects he left piled in every room.

She would have killed for multiple spare copies.

“Back to work, girls,” said Adrian. “You’re doing splendidly.”

“Marvelous job, all,” Viv said weakly. She wondered if anyone would notice if she melted down the stairs.

Before she could attempt a strategic retreat, however, Marjorie cut her off at the pass. “I can show you forgeries, if you want to see forgeries.”

“No,” Viv mumbled. “That’s all right.”

“Extremely illegal forgeries,” Marjorie said dryly. “If you’ll wait here for a moment, I’ll rob the Prince Regent myself. Oh, wait, that was our last student trip. We have copies of his crown. Mine is the real one; His Majesty’s is the forgery.”

“I shouldn’t have accused you of corrupting minors,” Viv said. “Particularly in front of the minors. At least not without evidence.”

“Well, that’s gracious of you. I hope you come to like us a little bit better before you marry my brother.”

Viv choked on her own spit. “Before I what?”

“You care for Jacob, Jacob cares for you.” Marjorie shrugged. “Doesn’t seem confusing to me.”

“Listen,” said Viv, then wondered if it was the wrong thing to say. Marjorie was hard of hearing. Viv hadn’t meant to add insult to insult. “I’m not going to marry your brother. I don’t even like your brother.”

“Hmm,” said Marjorie.

“He doesn’t like me either,” Viv insisted, raising her voice. “Go and ask him.”

“Hmm,” Marjorie said again.

“I don’t like any Wynchesters,” Viv said desperately. “That’s why I walked in here insulting you without a second thought. I hold your entire family’s breathtaking hypocrisy in utter contempt, and I fear for every child your good-hearted obliviousness corrupts.”

The room was staring at her again.

Marjorie and Adrian exchanged a brief flurry of hand gestures. Probably plotting how best to murder Viv and where to hide the body.

“No offense,” Viv added quickly.

Marjorie’s expression was amused. “How can I take offense when even you don’t believe your own words?”

“I definitely do,” Viv assured her. “I don’t lie.”

“Neither do your colors,” Marjorie said cryptically, then gestured toward an empty table and chair. “Sit down, stay awhile, copy a key. Perhaps it’ll unlock your future.”

“Er, no thank you,” Viv stammered. “I’m rubbish at art.”

Marjorie raised her brows. “Have you ever tried?”

“Exhaustively. Quentin and I took a week of cosmetics lessons at the Royal Theatre; I’ve seen clowns more fetching than the looks we designed.

Later, we shared an art tutor for a full month.

He left in tears. We were more likely to break the frame than to stretch a canvas properly, and when it came to mixing powders into paint…

” Viv shuddered. “Some people are born artistic souls. And some people are me and Quentin.”

Marjorie hugged her.

Viv stood there and took it, frozen in place. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Comforting you. Not everything will come easy. You’ve got to keep trying.”

Viv snorted. “I gave up art a long time ago, and the world is better for it. If you’d seen those canvases—”

“Not the paintings. Don’t give up on Jacob.” Marjorie pulled back and gave Viv several pats on the shoulders. “Whatever you did—”

“Who says I’m the one in the wrong? Or that there’s a problem I’m avoiding at all?”

Marjorie looked at her in silence.

Viv swallowed. “You know what? A grumpy man recently told me to go and meddle in someone else’s life. I think I’ll do that now. Enjoy your forgeries. Good day!”

She raced down the stairs, fully cognizant that two dozen pairs of eyes were watching her flee in haste from a diminutive Wynchester in a paint-flecked apron. Who’d got the better of Viv by hugging her when she wasn’t expecting it.

This family was devious indeed.

After checking Marjorie off the list, Viv arrived in Islington in time to see Graham and Kuni race each other around the garden, up the high stone walls, then leap from tree to tree.

They moved so quickly, Viv could barely jot down their current position in her log before they sprang to another spot.

Both athletes kept up competitive chatter, teasing each other as they jumped and climbed and ran, as if doing so were no more strenuous than lifting a lemon cake to one’s mouth at teatime.

Viv was out of breath just watching them.

This time, she knew better than to presume mischief was afoot. Even without considering her experience with Marjorie and Adrian, Viv could clearly recognize that Graham and Kuni were executing some sort of training routine.

At last, the duo collapsed onto the grass. Or at least, Viv would have collapsed. Fainted. Slept.

Kuni and Graham, on the other hand, rolled onto their stomachs for the barest of seconds before rising on their hands and toes, keeping their spines and legs straight as they pushed their chests up from the grass, shouting out numbers from one to ten… to fifty…

Only after one hundred press-ups did they flop onto their backs, side by side, their fingers entwined.

“Not going to join us?” Graham called out, eyes closed, his face tilted up to the sun.

“Um,” said Viv. “Good afternoon. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You absolutely meant to interrupt,” said Kuni, flipping a handful of long black braids out of her face. “You’re doing splendidly at it.”

“I meant to observe,” clarified Viv.

“Did you get what you came for?”