Page 3 of Most Sought-After Scoundrel in London (Wicked Widows League #31)
T he delicate tinkling of teacups mingled with the lively chatter that filled Matron Manor’s drawing room had Violet sitting on the edge of her seat.
With the aid of Mr. Hardy, she had managed to successfully and anonymously poll the members of the Wicked Widow League.
She squeezed her hands tightly in her lap and counted the seconds, waiting for Lady Bertha to arrive so that she could finally be done with the absurd mission and reveal the results that she found rather astounding.
Violet had counted and recounted the ballots on three separate occasions to ensure that she wasn’t mistaken, yet the results remained the same.
The annoyingly handsome Lord Hurlington—the same man whose image haunted her dreams ever since their encounter at Mr. Hardy’s confectionery—had been voted almost unanimously by her fellow Wicked Widows as the sole gentleman to lay claim to all three titles as the most intriguing, the most astute, and most scandalous of scoundrels.
While Violet’s intuition screamed foul play, she couldn’t find fault with her methodology or execution of the poll.
It wasn’t too difficult to believe that the man had captured the attention of her peers, yet she couldn’t shake the thought that the results were weighted.
A hush descended upon the room as Lady Bertha entered.
Finally, she could announce the news and put all thoughts of Lord Hurlington aside.
“Lady Violet, you look lovely as always,” Lady Bertha greeted her.
She stood and dipped into a curtsy as she replied, “As do you, Lady Bertha.” Violet noticed that all other conversations had ceased, and she was now at the focus of everyone’s attention.
“I’m eager to hear the results of your poll, Lady Violet.” There was an unmistakable twinkle in the woman’s eyes.
Violet considered Lady Bertha a pillar amongst the Wicked Widows, who shared her opposition to the idea of entering a marriage; however, she was also aware that the woman secretly loved to partake in the occasional matchmaking scheme and had played a role in the unions of no less than three couples in the last year.
A tendril of worry rolled down the back of Violet’s neck as Lady Bertha’s penetrating gaze remained firmly focused upon her.
Lady Bertha wouldn’t embroil her in one of the farfetched schemes, would she?
Violet shook off her wayward thoughts and pasted on a smile before turning to address everyone in the room. “A good afternoon to everyone.”
Her fellow widows gathered to form a semicircle around Violet.
Speaking on a one-on-one basis was difficult enough for her, but to face an entire crowd had her palms sweating and her feet itching to run.
Having been left alone for the majority of her life to live in her imaginary world, Violet’s transition to living amongst the Wicked Widows has been riddled with both anxiety and excitement.
She briefly glanced over her shoulder at the door, but she would have to barrel through at least a third of the ladies gathered to make an escape.
Facing problems head-on had served her well in the past, no need to change tactics now.
Rolling her shoulders back and straightening her spine, Violet inhaled and counted to three before beginning, “Thank you for joining me today.” She glanced about the room and was slightly startled by the unadulterated curiosity in the women’s wide eyes that pinned her to the spot.
“I suspect you are as eager as I am to discover the results of our poll.” Heads bobbed and giggles filled the air.
“Against all probabilities, one man’s name topped the list in all three categories?—”
Lady Bertha interrupted, “Only one?”
Her eyes narrowed at Lady Bertha’s slightly mischievous inflection.
“Aye. Based on the votes, it would seem that Lord Hurlington is indeed the most sought-after scoundrel in London at present.” Violet studied the expressions of the ladies gathered, some giggled behind fans, the cheeks of others reddened, and then there were those who uttered dreamy sighs at the mention of Lord Hurlington.
Lord Hurlington. An only son, born between two sets of twin girls, was known to favor ladies older than himself.
While Violet had heard all the rumors of the man’s escapades into the gardens, she’d never once seen the man re-emerging with his clothing disheveled, or the scent of a female like she had on many others sneaking back into crowded ballrooms along her favored shadowed walls that were lined by widows and wallflowers alike.
Pondering over the few interactions she’d had with the gentleman, Violet’s curiosity was aroused once more.
Why was the man sneaking about the gardens late at night and disappearing from balls and soirees for extended periods at a time, if not to dally with a lady?
Blast her inquisitive nature. She had completed her mission, and now she should focus on penning another poem in order to cover her monthly expenses, given she had no protector, nor a husband or family to provide her with a monthly stipend.
Yet she couldn’t banish the man’s name from her thoughts.
“Lady Violet?” Lady Bertha tapped her gently on the arm. “Is there something amiss?”
“No.” She shook her head and then smiled. “I hope you are not too disappointed with my findings?”
“Disappointed? Good lord, no. However, Lady Ester and I were just debating…”
Before the woman could suggest another scheme that might involve her agreeing yet another dare, Violet interjected, “My apologies. You’ll have to excuse me, I need to return to my chambers.”
Lady Bertha’s brow knitted as Violet wrapped her arms about her waist. The ever-perceptive woman didn’t hesitate and came to Violet’s aide placing a steady arm around Violet’s shoulders and whispered, “Let me help you, Violet.”
Violet turned to meet Lady Bertha’s all-knowing eyes. The depth of concern mixed with a distinct twinkle of mischief had Violet’s legs weakening. She reluctantly allowed Lady Bertha to assist her through the halls back to her private rooms.
Neither spoke a word until Violet was seated on the edge of her bed yet the air between them vibrated with tension.
Lady Bertha was not someone Violet wished to disappoint, and her intuition was warning her to proceed with caution.
“My thanks for helping me, Lady Bertha. I think it best if I take a respite before Lady Hadfield’s soiree. ”
“Ah… yes, Lady Hadfield would be extremely disappointed if we were not to appear tonight.” Lady Bertha walked over to the window and closed the curtains, shutting out the dimming sunlight.
Lady Hadfield was an enigma to Violet. The lady had been a commoner with no trace of blueblood before becoming a countess, yet in Violet’s opinion, there was no one more worthy to hold the title of Countess of Hadfield.
Eyeing Lady Bertha as she returned to the side of the bed, Violet said, “I wasn’t aware that Lady Hadfield and you were close friends.” She obediently slipped her feet under the covers that Lady Bertha had moved aside.
“Lady Hadfield and I…” Lady Bertha tucked Violet in with practiced movements of a mother and smiled. “I wouldn’t say that I would call myself one of Lady Hadfield’s confidants, however we both share a common goal.”
“Oh, and what goal would that be?” Violet asked.
“Unfortunately, my dear, it’s a secret. However, I could use your assistance in another matter.”
With her curiosity piqued and her instincts telling her Lady Bertha was setting a trap, Violet still found herself asking, “And this matter would have something to do with Lord Hurlington, am I correct?”
Clapping her hands together, Lady Bertha nodded. “Well done, my girl. You might shy away from others, but you are undoubtedly astute and extremely capable.” Lady Bertha turned and began to pace the width of the bed.
While she had originally feigned illness to escape to her rooms, Violet found herself forced to close her eyes as Lady Bertha’s pacing was making her dizzy.
She waited—praying for the woman to give up and leave, yet when the bed dipped next to her, she knew her prayers had gone unanswered.
Violet opened one eye to find Lady Bertha grinning from ear to ear down at her once again.
“Violet, my dear…” Lady Bertha’s eyes were alight with pure delight. “Are you not curious as to how Lord Hurlington has managed to capture the attention of every widow yet the rumors of his activities remain rather questionable?”
Hearing her thoughts echoed in Lady Bertha’s excited tone, Violet sat up straighter.
She wasn’t the only one convinced that Lord Hurlington was a scoundrel; the gentleman had managed to stir the hearts and minds of her fellow widows.
His hushed whispers, brazen glances, and the occasional conspiratorial wink had her peers agog with interest. As the scandalous gossip of the man’s feats of disappearing and reappearing from various balls during the Season riffled through Violet’s thoughts, she begrudgingly had to admit Lord Hurlington, rogue or not, was the most intriguing man she had ever encountered.
Despite the numerous accounts of Lord Hurlington’s escapades into the shadows, leaving all the ladies guessing, even wagering, as to who the lucky woman was that he was meeting, Violet suspected the man had ulterior motives for vanishing into the night.
She shook her head. Curiosity only ever led to no good, yet she couldn’t deny that the man had managed to preoccupy her thoughts on more than one occasion.
Would she dare to investigate the scoundrel’s movements?
Mayhap Lord Hurlington and his mysterious ways could spur the words she so desperately needed to fill her dwindling coffers.
With a wicked smile, Lady Bertha suggested, “Mayhap Lord Hurlington might be of assistance and inspire a verse or two.” Egad, could the woman read her mind?
“Lady Bertha, I often wonder if you are skilled at channeling others’ thoughts or if you simply know me all too well.”
Her mentor clapped her hands in obvious glee, “Then we are in agreement. You shall accompany Lord Hurlington in his late-night escapades."
“Accompany?”
Wringing her hands, Lady Bertha replied, “My apologies, I misspoke… I meant investigate the scoundrel’s activities.”
Eyes narrowed and pinned on the woman who rarely made mistakes, Violet asked, “Why are you encouraging me to embark upon such an unorthodox mission?”
Lady Bertha’s brow rose and then knitted. “Because… because us widows must…” The normally composed matron smoothed her immaculate coiffure and sighed. “I can’t explain. Can you trust me? Trust me as I trust you. You are the only one I can count on to carry out this task.”
The woman was clearly distressed, and Violet’s heart seized. She didn’t want to be the cause of Lady Bertha’s worries.
Violet grasped Lady Bertha’s hands in hers. “I trust you. And you can trust me. I shall endeavor to do my best.”
As fast as lightning appeared and disappeared, so did Lady Bertha’s frown. “Wonderful. Now I’ll take my leave. Lady Hadfield hates those who are tardy.”
She watched Lady Bertha leave with a bounce in her step she’d not noticed before.
Violet had the sinking feeling she was now embroiled in one of Lady Bertha’s schemes.
She’d have to be on her guard tonight or she might well end up engaged or, worse, end up like Lady Emma, who’d been kidnapped and hied off to Gretna Green.