Page 50 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

T he Langley estate was all warmth and elegance as Wendy stepped into its front hall, the muted tones of rich blues and cream wrapping around her like a soft blanket.

The air inside smelled faintly of beeswax and lavender, the kind of comforting domesticity that made her glad she had come, even if her heart hadn’t quite settled after leaving Harley Street.

Pippa and Bea flanked her, their chatter bubbling ahead as a footman led them toward the drawing room.

Violet Langley, Countess of Langley, was already rising to greet them, her poised figure set against the backdrop of striking floor-to-ceiling window dressings.

She wore a gown of soft pink. As Wendy expected, since she’d last seen her, the gentle swell of her belly was now unmistakable.

She set her embroidery hoop aside with the efficiency of a woman who had better things to do than stitch apricot blossoms.

Bea rushed forward to kiss Violet’s cheek. “Dearest Violet, how radiant you are!” Her glance swept downward. “And you’re positively blooming.”

“I’m not particularly radiant at five months along,” Violet replied dryly, though her smile softened the words.

She turned to Wendy, her warm hazel eyes crinkling with welcome.

“Nurse Wendy, how kind of you to come. And as for you…” she aimed a kind teasing glance at Pippa.

“I hardly dare guess what minor scandal has dragged you along.”

“Scandal.” Pippa snorted, brushing the accusation away with a flick of her wrist as she sank lazily into one of the rosewood chairs. “I’ll have you know I’ve been outrageously tame… in the past week or so.”

Wendy blushed and smiled despite herself, but her nurse’s instincts kicked in as soon as Violet stepped closer, her hand delicately resting on her rounding belly. “And how are you feeling, my lady?” Wendy asked, her voice gentle but purposeful.

Violet chuckled softly and gestured for them to sit, though she herself remained standing, her energy betraying none of the fatigue so common to women in her condition.

“Better than most expect, I think. The baby is quite active these past days. It’s as if it heard of my plans to attend the ball and began rehearsing a dance.

” She smoothed her gown over her belly almost absently, a fondness softening the edges of her words.

“And you, Nurse Wendy? I hope List’s upheavals have not troubled you further.

Dr. Felix Leafley postponed my husband’s treatment for lack of material, which I know is due to List’s intercepting of gold from Transylvania.

I’m glad to hear you saved our prince’s life.

He’s the only one who can stop List if anyone can at all. ”

Wendy stiffened. Not because Violet had spoken falsely—but because she had spoken too plainly.

The words “your prince” struck harder than they should. Wendy folded her hands more tightly in her lap, as if she could squeeze away the heat blooming in her chest. Violet couldn’t know what those words implied. What they risked.

She longed to say she hadn’t saved him—he had survived, yes, but not because of her. And even if she had, what did it matter if her presence near him might unravel everything else she had worked for?

Wendy opened her mouth to reply, but Bea, like an eager magpie, darted in. “We simply won’t speak of upheavals. Violet dear,” Bea’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “why are you not already in confinement? Surely, no ball is worth exposing yourself to the ton’s prying eyes.”

Violet arched an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed.

“No, thank you. This is no ordinary ball, Bea. You of all people should understand the importance.” Violet fanned herself.

“The nurse has no objections, and Langley himself trusts my judgment. After all, this is no small occasion. It would be a snub to Lady Anna Ashford, not to mention an embarrassment to my new friend, Princess Thea, if I were to feign timidity.”

Wendy folded her hands on her lap, listening intently. She had always admired how the Countess of Langley could effortlessly wield logic and wit, delivering unassailable reasoning without crossing into frustration.

It was everything Wendy wasn’t—assured, elegant, untouchable.

“And the introductions,” Violet continued, crossing the room with the practiced grace of someone used to finding themselves the center of attention.

“It is a tremendous honor. Not one but three royal siblings to be presented at Lady Ashford’s ball—Stan, Thea, and Alex.” Her expression shifted slightly, warm but reflective as she named them. “Prince Alex should already be at Cloverdale House by now.”

The mention of Stan’s brother sent a ripple of dread through her.

Stan acted as though he wanted to stay with her, marry her even—but because of List and his duties, perhaps pressured further by his brother—perhaps he’d have to leave…

Oh Wendy couldn’t finish the thought. List’s name alone lanced through the air, connected irreversibly to Stan, who was no doubt standing grim-faced at Cloverdale this instant.

If Violet noticed Wendy’s small shift in posture, she tactfully didn’t acknowledge it.

Violet chuckled under her breath before crossing to a nearby cabinet.

“Well, if you’re all so concerned about me defying tradition by attending a ball, then perhaps this will help convince you.

” She invited them to join her upstairs, where she pulled open a smooth mahogany armoire and withdrew a dress, its fabric shimmering even in the filtered midmorning sunlight.

Wendy’s curiosity stirred as Violet returned to them, holding the gown at arm’s length for inspection. The rich emerald fabric caught the light like polished jewels, swirls of gold embroidery curling along the hem and bodice like creeping ivy.

“I had it made specifically for the ball,” Violet said proudly, draping the dress over an empty chaise. “A pregnancy doesn’t mean one can’t make a statement.”

“It’s exquisite,” Wendy found herself saying, despite her heart retreating to thoughts of Stan. “You’ll certainly… make an impression.”

“I should hope so.” Violet smiled wryly, her eyelids fluttering closed for the briefest moment.

But when she opened them, they focused not on the dress but on Wendy again.

“And you, Nurse Wendy? Will you attend alongside your brother, Dr. Folsham? I am certain the doctors at Cloverdale have all been invited.”

“But I am not a doctor,” Wendy said, wringing her hands.

“I know, I know. You’re far more important. I’ve seen you hand them everything they need—without you, the practice and Cloverdale would be like a fertile field without rain—nothing.” Violet gave a self-assuring nod as if she’d merely stated the obvious.

Pippa and Bea turned curious, expectant faces toward her, and Wendy shifted uncomfortably against their stares. Her tongue fumbled before even a half-answer could take shape. How could they grasp what such a question implied? How could any of them see what her heart fought against at every moment?

To attend the ball would be to stand in the open, a nurse beside nobility, exposed before the very eyes she feared most. And if Stan so much as peeked at her—if anyone sensed what had passed between them—it would not be a pleasurable ball. It would be scandal.

For Violet, the ball was an honor, a confirmation of her role, her connections, her place in society. For Wendy, it was the cold acknowledgment of everything she could never have.

“In fact, Violet,” Pippa said with a meaningful glance to Bea and back to Violet, “there’s something we need to discuss with you. It’s about Cloverdale House.”

“And you,” Pippa said with a smile.

“We’ve all been talking,” Bea added, her tone gentler than usual. “About how you’ve carried the place these past months. Your work, your spirit… everyone sees it.”

“We want to reward that,” Pippa said, glancing from Violet to Wendy. “Celebrate it. But—”

But Wendy barely heard them. Her mind was already spiraling, caught in the impossible tug-of-war between love and duty.

Stan was being pulled from London by threats and politics.

She was anchored here, in her work, her purpose.

How could they meet in the middle if the very ground kept splitting beneath them?