Page 4 of Toni and Addie Go Viral

Toni

Toni was fairly sure that whisky wasn’t the answer, and she wasn’t about to get excited about a maybe book deal. It was a pie-in-the-sky plan, as her mother used to call such things.

Wouldn’t Lilian have loved it if it worked? If I did something so like him, and it panned out?

A bitter sting hit Toni then, the odd feeling of mourning someone who wasn’t dead.

The Lilian Darbyshire Toni knew and argued with made fewer and fewer appearances these days.

There were moments when Toni saw her mother, and they knew each other, and everything felt normal—or as normal as it could be.

They’d never been close, but that didn’t change the sense that Toni wanted them to be.

And it’s too late, now.

As much as Toni had longed for the sense of friendship she saw people build with their parents, she’d never have that.

Her grifter father was dead, and her mother was lost to an illness that made her disconnected from reality.

Knowing the impossibility didn’t undo that gnawing desire to be that kind of connected.

Aunt Patty was the only one who had ever accepted Toni, and she was long gone, too.

Leaving me in this mess all alone. Although in fairness, Patty had cleaned up after her brother for so long that it was probably a blessing that she wasn’t here to see the mess he’d left for Toni—or to see how lost Toni’s mother was.

Lilian Darbyshire was a woman whose dreams of fame were cut short by an accidental pregnancy in her mid-thirties and a quick marriage to a man who traded on cons his whole life.

She’d had a career about to blossom, until him, until the pregnancy.

And she’d been fool enough to love him so much that she surrendered her own dreams.

Like so many women throughout history.

He’d loved her in his way. Toni could see that now. It was just that his way of loving was no good for anyone. Not his wife. Not his daughter. Not his sister. Not even the countless mistresses he took. He was a charmer, but charm wasn’t the same as substance or hard work.

If there was a racetrack in the afterlife, Anthony Darbyshire was sidling up to some gullible mark with a plan.

Or he was still being conned out of his last set of winnings.

And back here in the land of the living, his widow was likely yelling at someone for letting him know where she’d stashed her money.

That was the peculiarity of Lilian’s memory slips.

They weren’t always the sort that made her fall into her bad years with her husband, but most of the times with him were so similar in the yo-yo of their fortunes that Lilian’s sense of what she thought was “now” were good moments in a range of bad to worse to decent years.

And all of them were with her con man husband exasperating her.

And people wonder why I avoid relationships.

The curious part of her parents’ marriage, to Toni, at least, was that no matter what the timeline was in Lilian’s reality, she always had an underlying fond exasperation, as if she found her husband’s haplessness with money endearing.

No matter that she’d had to surrender dreams of a singing career, and then later drop out of college as an older adult.

All because of him.

No matter what plan Lil had had to turn her life around, to build something stable, Anthony Darbyshire found a way to ruin it.

Growing up in the mess of his mistakes hadn’t felt “endearing” to Toni, and her years with her Aunt Patty—when her parents were too broke to look after their only child—were really the only ones that had offered any semblance of stability.

Now? Now Patty was gone, and Toni’s dad was gone, and the adult version of Toni had to figure out how to fix the latest catastrophe on hand.

Honestly, the fact that she was more inclined to academia and workaholic tendencies than addiction and destruction felt like it was a victory—even if more than a few therapists called her workaholic path another kind of addiction.

She never gambled. She didn’t smoke or use drugs.

She strictly limited shopping, drinking, or excess.

There was one exception to her rules.

Just the one.

From her teen years until recently, Toni had coped with feeling lost or overwhelmed by bed-hopping like it was an Olympic sport.

Her therapist spent more than a few sessions trying to get Toni to address her commitment fears, but it wasn’t a huge mystery.

Her mom trusted her dad, and look where she was now.

That was a fate Toni would never endorse.

Better to count on herself—and find a bit of comfort in willing women.

Her gaze drifted over the people here again, hunting for the one she’d bed and forget next. Her gaze jumped right past the desperate-eyed ones with visions of U-Hauls dancing in their minds.

Toni wasn’t interested in forever. She was only interested in for tonight.

She skipped the coupled-up women, including the one with the body language that spoke of discontent.

Rebounds were fine, but only after they were single.

The tall woman in overalls was a maybe. So was the primly dressed one shooting bold looks her way.

Women in all their shapes and sizes were amazing.

Toni had only a few simple rules: No hookups with colleagues.

No “I’m bi-curious and can my husband join” women.

No students. No one already in a relationship.

What Toni needed was a simple, no strings, no complications temporary connection with a woman who wouldn’t walk away thinking that one night meant anything, and she’d had to put that urge on hold too often during her dissertation and job hunt. She was well overdue for…

Well, hello, there.

A real-life Lady Godiva, complete with both the near-nakedness and the waterfall of hair, stood in the doorway to the bar.

She wore a thick braid of golden-brown hair that reached clear down to her hip.

She was shivering, probably because she was wearing what looked like a Victorian nightdress and not much else.

Pristine white cotton with a ruffle at the ankles, it was a shapeless sort of thing—but it was illuminated by the fire in the pub, and Toni was far from the only woman noticing the stranger’s hourglass figure…

and obvious lack of a bra. She could also see that the stranger had Victorian drawers under her nightdress, and those were made of thicker fabric, enough that Toni couldn’t tell if they were historically accurate.

Is she actually wearing historic drawers?

The Victorians were thought to be prudish, but historic drawers were akin to modern lingerie. Crotchless. It was practical, of course. Their dresses were heavy things, and being able to use the toilet was a challenge in such dresses.

That didn’t explain why a modern woman would wear such drawers, though.

Is this woman wearing crotchless Victorian drawers? Surely not.

Toni wanted to know, wanted to investigate the matter. Lesbian in historical garb? Yes, please. She looked like Toni’s fantasy come to life.

The woman’s gaze zeroed in on Toni like an invitation, and Toni was on her feet and across the pub before the thought fully settled.

If the stranger was going to turn her gaze toward Toni, there was zero reason to ignore her.

The woman was one of Toni’s favorite types—slightly shorter than her, fit enough that she’d be willing to go hiking or to the gym, and obviously possessing at least a passing interest in history, according to her attire.

And the fact that she was busty wasn’t exactly a deterrent.

Toni was always a little extra pleased when her lovers possessed a sort of pin-up girl set of curves.

More than a few people were looking at the new woman like she was a lost damsel, but Toni was certain that they were thinking more villainous than heroic thoughts.

Not that I wasn’t looking at her like a dessert in convincingly historical boots.

The stranger shivered.

And though Toni wasn’t sure if it was a chill or nerves, she slipped her blazer off and held it out. “Here.”

The woman stared at her.

“You shivered.” Toni’s gaze dropped to the woman’s chest, despite her best efforts. It was a chest that deserved extra looks, and up close, the dark areolas around pert inviting nipples were making Toni extra sure that she deserved an award for not staring. The stranger had glorious breasts.

The woman clutched the blazer to her chest like a shield but didn’t put it on. “Who are you?” she whispered.

“Antonia. Toni. ” Toni took her blazer back and helped the woman into it. The sleeves hung over her hands, covering the large fire opal ring on her right middle finger.

When she pulled the front of the blazer closed and buttoned it, the woman stared up at her. “I’m Lady Adelaine Stewart.”

“Lady? Is there a costume ball nearby, Miss Stewart?” Toni teased. “You seem to have missed the evening gown.…”

“I was rehearsing,” Adelaine said, sounding more serious for a moment. “Stage production.”

“Ah.” Toni glanced around the pub. No one was watching them now, likely presuming that the not-quite-dressed woman was here to meet Toni, since Miss Stewart had stared directly at her upon arrival—and Toni had gone to her side like she’d been summoned.

I don’t think I know her.

Surely it was a coincidence. Her table was likely just the first place the stranger’s glance had fallen. I wouldn’t forget someone like her! Toni might have bedded the occasional woman whose name she couldn’t recall, but she didn’t forget the shape of a woman’s body—especially a shape like this.

“Did you mean to wander into this bar, Miss Stewart?”

“I did.” She looked around, wide-eyed. “But…”

Miss Stewart looked as if she were on the verge of a swoon. She was obviously quite committed to her persona.

“Do you need an escort to a car? Or train?” Toni offered.

“No. I am here.” She straightened her shoulders, and Toni briefly cursed her decision to button the blazer. “With you, in fact.”