Page 7 of Season of the Scoundrel (The Bridewell Sisters #3)

T he clink of silverware and porcelain mixed with the din of conversation as Griffin, Lily, Ivy, and their younger twin sisters took their seats at a table in The Savoy’s dining room later that evening.

As soon as Ivy told her sisters that the editor at The Sentinel wished to publish her Porphyrion story in an upcoming issue, they insisted on celebrating.

It was a social event Ivy couldn’t refuse, since everyone was cheerful on her behalf, and she wanted the chance to thank Griffin for his introduction to Blackbourne.

When everyone had a drink in hand, Lily lifted her glass.

“To Ivy, and a very auspicious beginning.”

“To Ivy,” they all said in chorus.

Ivy smiled and ducked her head. It was precisely the sort of attention she usually sought to avoid, but since it was her family, it felt different. A bit like a warm embrace.

“It’s the very start,” she reminded them. “I’ve not been offered employment.”

“But it is a start,” Griffin insisted. “Blackbourne was helpful?”

Ivy nodded. “He was.” She sipped a bit of champagne and decided she’d blame the bubbly wine on the warmth she felt rushing into her cheeks.

Apparently, she couldn’t even bear mention of the man without blushing.

The most awkward part was whether or not to confess that she and Blackbourne had met , in a manner of speaking, before this morning. She couldn’t imagine Blackbourne mentioning it to Griffin. For now, she was keeping the incident to herself.

“I may have to alter my opinion of the man,” Lily said.

“You’ve never met him, my love,” Griffin pointed out.

“Exactly. Because he avoids society entirely. Every invitation we’ve extended has either been ignored or refused.”

“Then he and Ivy have something in common,” Marigold put in, offering everyone at the table a cheeky smile.

A nobleman and his wife who Ivy had met the previous Season strode past their table and offered greetings to Lily and Griffin.

Ivy was grateful for the distraction from having to offer anything in response to Marigold’s comment. She feared that further talk about Blackbourne would only deepen her blush.

The initial course was served as Griffin greeted yet another nobleman, standing to speak briefly with him.

Ivy didn’t recognize the man, but she suspected he was one engaged in London commerce in some way.

Those were the noblemen who seemed to linger in the city after the Season, when most other upper crust families had departed for homes in the countryside.

Lily and Griffin intended to close up Edgerton House and return to Derbyshire by the month’s end.

Ivy hadn’t yet asked about the possibility of remaining at the townhouse, or perhaps securing her own lodgings.

Newspapers didn’t stop printing in the autumn and winter, and she conduct research in the city if she was in Derbyshire.

“Well, it looks as if Blackbourne doesn’t always avoid social outings,” Griffin said as he resumed his seat at the table.

He tipped his head toward the left side of the dining room.

Ivy looked over and, irritatingly, her pulse began to race. She’d spent years thinking she was imperturbable, and yet one look at the Duke of Blackbourne in white tie and a jet-black evening suit and she was as flustered as any debutante when faced with an eligible nobleman.

“He has an interesting face.” Marigold craned her neck until Lily quietly reminded her of the etiquette lessons all the Bridewell sisters had been taught, though few of them adhered to.

“Perhaps that’s why he goes out so rarely,” Griffin said as he glanced over at the nobleman they were all ogling like fools. “He must be one of the most eligible bachelors in London.”

“Yes, he must be,” Lily said thoughtfully, then turned a look Ivy’s way.

Ivy narrowed her eyes at her sister.

“I wonder what convinced him to join Penrose for dinner.”

Ivy coughed, having swallowed her spoonful of soup too quickly.

She looked over but couldn’t clearly see the man with Blackbourne. From where she was seated, a column obscured her view, but Griffin must have recognized him while he stood to greet his friend.

Ivy had never confided in Lily and Griffin about her Lord Penrose inquiry. Though she suspected Griffin knew Penrose, she’d resisted asking about the viscount, not wishing to alert anyone regarding her suspicions. At least not until she’d gathered sufficient facts.

She’d only ever shown her article about Lord Penrose to two men—Mr. Smythe and the Duke of Blackbourne.

And now, hours after seeing her claims about Penrose, why was Blackbourne having a friendly dinner with the man?

“Are you well acquainted with Lord Penrose?” Ivy asked, focusing on her soup and keeping her tone light.

“Not particularly well, no. But perhaps Blackbourne is.” Griffin’s tone indicated the matter didn’t interest him in the least.

Ivy had to pretend she wasn’t dying to know what the two men were discussing.

“You do know him a bit,” Lily corrected. “We went to that soiree he hosted last month.”

“We did indeed.” Griffin smiled. “Too many soirees to keep track of.”

“Has he extended any other invitations of late?” Ivy asked.

“Fewer invitations are coming now that many have left the city.” Lily tipped her head as if considering the matter. “I believe there was one to a dinner party for tomorrow evening where a portrait of Penrose’s wife is to be unveiled. She’s been sitting for Giovani Boldoni for weeks.”

Lily caught her gaze, and Ivy tried her best to reveal nothing. But, of course, Lily knew her better than most.

“Shall we attend together?” Lily’s offered her the slightest of smiles. “Ivy could come too.”

“I thought we’d decided not to accept more invitations as we prepare to depart,” Griffin said, his gaze on Lily, completely missing Ivy’s sudden interest in a social event.

“We could make this a final foray.” Lily gave Griffin one of those smiles that always seemed to melt his resistance.

“As you wish, my love.”

They got lost in whispering to each other for a moment. As the twins argued over whether the soup was delicious or passable, Ivy snuck glances toward the Duke of Blackbourne’s table. He laughed at something Penrose had said. The sound was so deep, Ivy could hear it from across the room.

She had to know what they were conversing about.

As soon as one course was cleared away and the next came, Ivy took her chance.

“Pardon me for a moment,” she said with a nod toward Lily. “The washroom,” she mouthed.

Lily nodded.

Ivy laid her napkin aside, stood, and wove her way around the tables nearby. She chose a path that would allow her to pass behind Blackbourne, as she did not want him to see her lurking about.

As she drew near, she slowed a bit, trying not to be too obvious, yet desperate to hear a bit of their exchange.

“The risks may seem great,” Penrose said in a voice that was excitable and high-pitched, “but I assure you the rewards are colossal.” She’d only ever seen a sketch of the nobleman in a newspaper article about one of his charitable endeavors.

He was barrel-chested, perhaps a decade older than Blackbourne, and with pale skin, eyes, and hair.

“Quite a claim,” Blackbourne said, his voice a bit more clipped than the way he’d spoken to her in his office today.

“It is more than a claim. It is a promise, my friend. Come tonight, and you can see for yourself.”

“I’ll consider it.” Blackbourne chuckled after his words.

Ivy realized she’d almost slowed to a stop and immediately picked up her pace, beelining toward the public washrooms. Inside, she went straight to a sink and ran her fingertips under the water, then dabbed a bit on her neck.

Whenever she was in Blackbourne’s vicinity, it was as if a furnace flamed to life inside her.

You must stop behaving like a dim-witted ninny , she told herself as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“Soap, miss?” the young woman washroom attendant offered her a pretty perfumed soap on a delicate gilded dish.

“No, thank you.” She gave the girl a half-smile. “Just needed to catch my breath.” Because I turn into a fool for a man I’ve known all of two days.

The young woman gave her a nod, as if understanding.

Ivy drew in a couple of steadying breaths and stepped out of the washroom into the hotel’s spacious, high-ceilinged lobby to make her way back to the dining room.

“Shall we call this another coincidence?” The duke lounged in one of lobby’s plush chairs, his gaze fixed on her as if he’d been waiting for her to emerge from the washroom.

“I suppose it is.” Ivy tried for an unaffected tone and hated the nervous quiver in her voice.

He stood and sauntered toward her until they were standing scandalously close.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said quietly, almost a whisper.

“I didn’t realize your talents extended to mind reading, Your Grace.” She was proud of herself for managing a quip when his nearness had her heart beating as if she’d just run a footrace.

“It is not what you believe.” Either he was a very great actor or the man was sincere.

“Did you tell him about my article?” This time her voice broke a bit.

The idea that he would betray her in that way… He’d seen her work in a professional setting. It would be unprincipled, unethical, to share that information with Penrose.

Ivy held her breath as his eyes darkened.

“Of course not.”

“He called you friend .” Ivy laid a hand against her middle and could suddenly breathe again. If she could trust his claim, of course.

“He’s trying to persuade me to invest in one of his schemes.” He looked into her eyes, dipped his head a bit, and said, “That’s why I invited him to dinner.”

She crossed her arms. “Does that mean you believe my story or doubt it? Are you investigating him now?”

“Wouldn’t more proof of your theory be useful?”

He wasn’t wrong, yet it still felt high-handed. If he had such easy access to Penrose, why not mention it this morning?

“You could have told me,” she said, sounding petulant even to her own ears.