Page 24 of The Duke’s Reluctant Muse (The Untamed Nobles #3)

Viola’s stomach gave a gentle growl as she hurried to supper. She’d been out in the garden enjoying the last of the sun on that unseasonably warm day. Her thoughts were turned inextricably towards the upcoming ball. They were to open the London Season that year, with Scarlett’s debut ball being all that anyone was talking about in the ton. Her younger sister, of course, had been brimming over with enthusiasm and excitement for weeks, and though Viola was happy for her, she herself couldn’t look forward to the season with such a vivacious and carefree attitude.

She tried to put away her anxieties before entering the house, not wanting to spoil the happy atmosphere that always came over the Berringtons when they gathered for supper.

“There you are!” Hyacinth exclaimed. The youngest Berrington sister thrust out her portfolio to Viola. “What do you think of this one? I’m not happy with the tree.”

Viola glanced down at the paper, where the thirteen year old Hyacinth had done a pencil drawing of a landscape at Hyde Park. Viola recognized the tree.

“No, it’s not quite right, is it?” Viola said gently. She knew how much stock Hyacinth put into her opinion, and that she could sniff out false praise like a hound sniffs out a fox. Happily, Viola was saved from having to come up with some useful advice for her sister—who was rapidly outpacing her own artistic skill—by the arrival of the others.

The room was soon bustling with noise as the rest of the Berringtons came in and everyone took their usual spots at the end of the long table. In a few days time, this room and the ballroom would be overrun by people, but for now the family all settled on one half of the table nearest the large bay windows overlooking the lane.

“You ought to try reading something that doesn’t contain any swooning ladies or disgraced Lords,” Charity was saying, her impish arrogance on the cusp of no longer being endearing at her fifteen years of age.

Scarlett, however, was unfazed and merely rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Why do you care what I read?

“Charity, leave her alone,” Hyacinth broke in, tucking her portfolio underneath her as she sat down at the table. “If she wants to read stupid books she can read stupid books.”

“Hyacinth, don’t say stupid,” Viola put in gently.

“They’re not stupid!” Scarlett insisted. Just because you all have hearts of stone doesn’t mean my reading habits are—”

“Ladies,” Lord Bentcliffe broke in, raising his hands up as he settled into the chair at the head of the table. “Please, a truce while we eat. At least when your aunt is with us.”

He gestured to Lady Sylvia, who inclined her head graciously, but with a hint of a grin that said she certainly didn’t expect her nieces to act any differently on her account. Over the past several years Sylvia had been a fixture at the Berrington’s home, whether they be in London for the season or at the country estate. When Lady Grace had died, leaving the Berrington children with no mother, her sister had done everything she could to provide all the love and guidance that she could for them, and was at their table for meals more often than not.

The girls immediately quieted, their father’s gentle tones being all that was necessary to curb their behavior. Once they had been an even rowdier bunch and harder even for Lord Bentcliffe to contain, but things had changed. The loss of their mother, first of all, changed the fabric of their home forever. And now, with their older brother Christopher away on his Grand Tour, the feeling of their family being broken and incomplete was even worse.

“Scarlett, I want to see one of those books of yours. Are you reading things young girls ought not to be reading?” Lord Bentcliffe inquired, peering at her over his spectacles.

Scarlett flushed crimson. “No, Father. It’s not bad, I promise. Charity is exaggerating.”

“Edward…” Lady Sylvia said gently. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

“Of course, you’re right,” he said, nodding as he reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a folded letter. It was only then that Viola noticed how pleased he had looked since he came in. As though he were keeping some exciting secret.

“You’ve got a letter from Christopher, haven’t you?” Viola exclaimed.

There was a general clamor, but Lord Bentcliffe wouldn’t read the letter until supper had been served. He seemed to enjoy building the suspense, and the wait while plates of roast lamb and potatoes were placed in front of them was agony for everyone but him. Finally, after he had taken a few bites of his meat and a sip of the dark wine, Lord Bentcliffe slowly unfolded the letter and began to read from it.

“Dearest Father,” Lord Bentcliffe began in his slow, methodical reading voice. “Do forgive me for not writing more. I’ve been so busy, you see, and have hardly a few minutes even now to try to write down everything that has happened. We arrived in Switzerland last Tuesday…”

Viola listened intently as her father read of Christopher’s travels through Europe. As much as hearing from her absent brother was a great pleasure and relief, she found that every time she heard one of his letters she had to fight down a bitter swell of envy. She and Christopher had often, as children, poured over their father’s atlas in the library, tracing with their fingers all the locales of the extraordinary events of history they read about. They’d spent their childhood imagining what it would be like to see places like Rome, the Alps, Greece, Paris… and now? He was out travelling the world and seeing them all with his own eyes, while Viola was stuck at home fretting over suitors.

Or rather, to put a finer point on it, fretting over a lack of suitors.

Of course, it was no great tragedy to be returning to the London season for the second year with no proposals. It happened all the time, surely. And Aunt Sylvia had assured her that one’s first season was often a little more than a practice run, but Viola was not so sure. She was as aware as anyone else that the loveliest, most accomplished, and best ladies always got scooped up right away on the marriage mart. And here was Viola— polite, from a good family, well educated—and yet entering her second year without so much as a rumor of a courtship.

She’d always been told by her family that she had a kind face, and her glossy auburn hair was the envy of her sisters. Was that not enough? Were these merely the loving compliments of a family who didn't want to hurt her feelings? Was none of it true? Was she more plain than she’d thought?

Viola shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind. Worrying about her looks would certainly not improve them, in any case.

Thoughts of spinsterhood, of being one of those ladies who attends ball after ball without gaining any prospects, hovered menacingly on the peripheries of her mind as she listened to the end of Christopher’s letter. Her food was untouched, and the hunger she’d felt on her way to super had somehow disappeared. The combination of envy over her brother’s freedom and anxiety over her own future filled her instead of the fine roasted lamb.

“Scarlett,” Aunt Sylvia said, tapping a napkin to the corner of her lips and looking across at her. “Tomorrow is the final fitting for your ball gown. I will be here in the morning to take you.”

“Oh, can I come too?” Hyacinth begged.

Aunt Sylvia grinned. “I expected you would ask. I don't mind if you all come.”

“Can we stop at the bookshop too?” Charity asked, with a pointed look at Scarlett. Scarlett waited for father to look down at his place then stuck her tongue out at Charity.

Viola tried to get into the happy spirit, but her heart remained troubled. She’d rather stay home by herself than go and watch Scarlett try on her gown. It only made her remember how hopeful and excited she had been for her own coming out ball last year. What a disappointment.

But, with all her sisters going, they’d notice her discouraged mood if she alone stayed behind. The last thing she wanted was any more attention paid to her predicament. She felt she’d die of embarrassment if anyone acknowledged her anxieties over finding a match. So she decided that she would have to go along as well.

***

The next morning the sun was shining cheerfully overhead as the carriage containing all four Berrington sisters along with Aunt Sylvia made its way to the modiste. The girls tumbled out of the carriage, a cacophony of sound as the excitement of the day bubbled out of them. Mrs. Lawley’s gowns were some of the most spectacular in London, and they were all eager to see how Scarlett’s dress looked. Even Viola, despite her misgivings about the London season in general, was keen to see it.

“Do try to contain yourselves, ladies,” Aunt Sylvia said. “Mrs. Lawley is a quiet, stern sort of woman, and I won’t have her thinking the Berringtons are all a bunch of foolish girls.” She glanced at her and Viola nodded, silently agreeing with her aunt that she would act as the second chaperone should the younger girls get too energetic in the shop. Viola had always been seen as the responsible one, even more so than her older brother, so this was an arrangement she was accustomed to.

The dress shop was luxuriously outfitted in plush couches and many large mirrors. Satins and silks and fine lace imported from all over the world filled the space and gave it an air of opulence, and a faint scent of lavender seemed to come from nowhere as the Berrington sisters filtered in.

“Ah, Lady Scarlett, I’ve been waiting for you” said Mrs. Lawley, a short and rather round woman with a long nose upon which perched a pair of small spectacles. She came out from around her counter, shooting a censuring glance at all the other sisters, the younger of whom had fanned out into the shop to touch the fabrics.

“Charity. Hyacinth.” Viola whispered as Scarlett and Aunt Sylvia were led to the dressing room at the back. “Quit touching everything. Come on.”

They made themselves comfortable on a pink velvet couch as Scarlett was helped out of her walking dress and into the nearly-final form of her coming out gown. It was stunning, its vibrant green hue contrasting her dark features. The bodice shimmered with intricate beadwork, while the skirt cascaded in layers, creating mesmerizing movement that would look beautiful as she danced.

“You look marvelous, dear,” Aunt Sylvia said, her eyes filled with motherly affection and a hint of sadness. Viola knew that she was thinking about Lady Grace, about their mother. The thought that her mother ought to have been there to see Scarlett today brought a surge of sadness to her, but Viola tried to hide it.

All the girls joined in to praise the gown, hailing it as perfection personified even as the famed dressmaker continued to make small adjustments with a pin here or a tuck there. Scarlett gazed at herself in the large mirror. She had a look of dazed excitement on her face. It was a face Viola could remember seeing in her own mirror a year ago.

“Lady Viola,” Mrs. Lawley said, suddenly snapping her out of her thoughts. “You did not order a new gown for the season?”

“I..” Viola stammered, feeling put on the spot as the dressmaker squinted at her over her spectacles. “No. My gown from last year is still good. I have been making small adjustments to suit the style of this season.”

The woman raised an imperious eyebrow and Viola worried that she had said something wrong.

“Perhaps you would like to have a new gown anyway? Another Lady ordered one from me months ago but was called away out of the country. She canceled the order and now I’m left with a nearly finished gown. You’re close in size to her, I’m sure there's time for the minor alterations it will need.”

“Oh, no, I don—”

But Mrs. Lawley was looking at Aunt Sylvia, who urged Viola to at least see how it looked. The dressmaker disappeared into another room to return shortly after with a violet gown draped over her arm and before Viola could think twice she was being laced into the most beautiful gown she’d ever worn. While she had opted for a more subdued, simple gown for her own coming out, it paled in comparison to this one. It wasn’t a color she’d choose for herself, and she tended to prefer the structure of a strong silk to the diaphanous layers of this gown, but she couldn’t deny that it suited her.

“You must have it,” Aunt Sylvia said. “It looks as though it were made for you. This is serendipity.”

“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble to have it altered on such short notice?” Viola asked Mrs. Lawley.

“Of course not. See here, it’s only a bit too large in the shoulder, that’s an easy fix. And the length of course, but a hem is work quickly done. I can have it ready at the same time as your sister’s.”

Viola still hesitated. She looked over at Scarlett, gauging her reaction. This was supposed to be Scarlett’s gown fitting, after all, not hers. But Scarlett seemed to have no fear of being overshadowed as she beamed happily at Viola. “You’re going to get it, right? We’ll be the best dressed ladies at the ball. You’ve been so gloomy lately, and what better way to cheer up than to wear a new gown to a ball?”

Viola chuckled. She could think of a great many things she would consider better than going to another ball. “I haven’t been gloomy.”

Scarlett gave her a knowing look, and Viola was left to wonder if her feelings were really so transparent. She’d thought she’d been doing a good job of putting on a brave front. A wave of embarrassment went over her at the realization that everyone could tell how upset she was about not having any prospects. How humiliating. It was bad enough to be a sad-faced forgotten wallflower without everyone else noticing it too. She longed for the ground to swallow her up then and there.

The combined enthusiasm of her sisters and aunt eventually won out over Viola’s shyness about the dress, and by the time they finally left the shop the decision had been made. An order for one dress by Mrs. Lawley had become an order for two. Viola was all too pleased to leave the modiste as they all filtered out onto the street. London was bustling that time of year, with everyone preparing for the season. The happy, busy atmosphere and a crisp breeze as they walked in the direction of the bookshop did much to lift Viola’s spirits, and as her sisters chartered away she let her mind wander to the future. The gown could be a sign, it was so lucky. Maybe this season would be different for her. Maybe in just a few months time she would be betrothed, her future settled, and in love with a man who loved her too. A kind, gentle, affectionate man who would secure her happiness for the rest of her life.

Her heart fluttered in her chest at the possibility.