The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

Chapter Twenty-Three

After leaving Wormleigh, the group found privacy beneath the sheltering branches of an oak tree and compared notes on their interviews. Vi let Emma do the talking about Jeanne; she was relieved when her pleading look worked and her sister skimmed over the part involving her escapade out the window, saying merely that Vi’s “ingenuity” had gotten them in. When Em was finished, Ambrose related the results of the men’s talk with Wormleigh.

Upon hearing of Wormleigh’s alibi, Em raised her brows. “Talk about the kettle calling the pot black. To think, Miss Ashe called Monique a harlot for having lovers.”

“Sinners are oft those who preach the loudest,” Strathaven said.

“And reformed rakes make the best philosophers, I take?” Em teased.

Bending his dark head, the duke whispered something in her ear; whatever he said made roses bloom in her cheeks.

“At any rate, we can strike Miss Ashe off the list,” Ambrose said. “She might have been jealous of Monique, but between the maid Mary and Wormleigh, her time is now accounted for.”

“We have new suspects to take her place,” Richard said grimly. “Garrity and Burns.”

Glancing at his pocket watch, Ambrose sighed. “I’ll deal with them after I have my daily briefing with Magistrate Jones.”

“That bad?” Em said.

“Let’s just say that Jones wants justice painted in black and white when the reality oft lies in shades of grey.” Beneath the brim of his hat, Ambrose’s face was haggard. “Between the magistrate’s intolerance of ambiguity and our host’s insistence on discretion, it’s not easy to carry out an investigation.”

“But you’ll manage because you’re the best investigator in London,” Em declared.

As Violet watched her brother stride off, guilt gnawed at her: how long could she keep the secret from him? She exchanged a look with Richard; from his troubled gaze, she knew that he was equally discomfited by their concealment of evidence. Yet they couldn’t tell Ambrose about Wick’s ring now. An uncompromising man like Magistrate Jones would no doubt presume Wick guilty: Wick would be tossed in gaol… or worse.

“Let’s get back to the house,” Emma said.

The four began the trek back through the waving grasses. Em and Strathaven walked a little ahead, giving Vi and Richard some privacy.

Walking beside her, Richard had a creased brow. “So how, precisely, did you convince Jeanne to let you in?”

Crumbs.“I can be, um, very convincing when I want to be.”

“I don’t doubt it.” His tone was dry. “Care to elaborate on your ‘ingenuity’?”

“It was nothing.” Deciding it wise to change the subject, Vi said brightly, “We’ve learned a lot today, haven’t we? Two new suspects… and I wonder who Wormleigh overheard in the library—the lovers he mentioned?”

“For all we know, he made that up. The man has more hot air than a flying balloon.”

“Yes, I know,” she agreed. “Imagine calling a double-barreled Manton defective.”

Richard slid her a startled glance. “You know about guns?”

“Enough to know that Lord Wormleigh was the problem, not the fowling piece.”

“But how did you learn…?”

“My brother Harry taught me about guns.” How she missed her brother, she thought with a pang. She wanted him to meet Richard; she was certain the two would rub along famously.

“Your brother enjoys hunting?”

“Not really. It’s the explosion side of things that he’s interested in.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Harry’s a scientist and the genius of the family,” she explained. “He’s finishing up at Cambridge, and he’ll probably become a professor. Anyway, he’s been blowing things up ever since he was a boy, and he used to experiment with flintlocks all the time, trying to get a bigger bang.” She grinned, remembering. “When it came to target practice, however, I beat him every time.”

“You can shoot?”

“Well, yes, although I’ve never shot at a moving object. Just at apples and bottles. Although,” she amended in the spirit of honesty, “I did shoot Tabitha once.”

Richard stopped in his tracks. “You shot a woman?”

“Oh no, Tabitha is Em’s cat. And I didn’t shoot her with a gun. That time, I was practicing with a slingshot.” Seeing his flummoxed expression, she added hastily, “I didn’t mean to hit Tabby; it was an accident. She wandered in front of the target at the last moment.”

“I… see.” His tone said he didn’t. “Do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?”

She was tempted to gloss over the truth. Yet another part of her wanted him to know her, and how could he, if she wasn’t honest with him? If he was going to be disappointed, better now than after they were married, when it would be too late.

Gathering up her courage, she said baldly, “I can ride, shoot, and play cricket. I like swimming and acrobatics. With my trousers on, I can beat most anyone climbing up a tree.”

The way he was staring at her made her heart thump nervously. She didn’t want to shock or put him off, but she didn’t want to hide who she was either. It was one of those instances in which compromise didn’t come easily.

“Would you like to do those things with me?” he said.

Now it was her turn to stare. “Pardon?”

“Would you like to ride, shoot, and play other sports with me?” In the sunlight, his eyes had an iridescent gleam. “I could even teach you how to hunt—to shoot at moving objects, if you’d like.”

He couldn’t be serious.

“Are you funning me?” she said suspiciously.

“Not a bit.”

“You’d truly teach me to hunt?”

“Since I’m fairly competent at it, I’d be happy to give you a few pointers.”

Fairly competent?She’d never seen anyone handle a double-barreled Manton with such finesse and confidence. Why, to get tips from him, for him to even suggest such a thing…

“How are you at fencing? Archery?” he went on.

She shook her head in wonder. “I haven’t done either.”

“I have. I could teach you the fundamentals of both.”

By… Golly. Her spiraling excitement was almost too much to bear. “You’d do all that? Even though it would be, um, irregular?”

“Who’s to say what is regular between a man and his wife?”

His meaning sunk in—and gave her an undeniable thrill. “Are you trying to bribe me into marriage, Carlisle?”

“It’s Richard, and I’m just trying to sweeten the pot, lass. In fact, when we’re married, you could even wear your trousers from time to time—as long as you do so only in my presence.”

There was no mistaking the pure male anticipation in his gaze.

Happiness flooded her, made her speechless.

Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he steered them toward Em and His Grace, who stood waiting up ahead. “If you marry me, you’ll have a lifetime of pleasures to look forward to. Dancing, shooting, riding—we’ll do it all. And that’s to say nothing of the sporting we’ll get up to in the marital bower.”

His intimate suggestion made her toes curl in her half-boots.

“Now you’re being wicked,” she managed.

“Just trying to press any advantage I have.” His eyes smiled at her. “By the by, I spoke to your brother and Strathaven.”

“Oh.” Her heart gave a silly hiccup. “How did it go?”

“They gave me permission. Not that I would have accepted anything else.” He tucked her hand more firmly against his arm. “Face it, Violet: sooner or later, you’re to be mine.”

This time, his determination filled her not with rebelliousness but giddy joy.

~~~

When the group arrived back at the house, Emma announced that she was going to take a nap. Violet found this strange since her sister never napped, but with no chaperone, she had to bid farewell to Richard. Em and Strathaven went with her to find Polly. The youngest Kent was in her sitting room, having an impromptu tea with Gabby and Rosie.

As soon as Violet was settled, Em left, Strathaven following steadily at her heels.

When the door closed behind them, Gabby said with a frown, “I hope my party isn’t wearing out the guests. Everyone is sleepy today.”

“Thea and Tremont were chaperoning us earlier, but they went to take a nap too,” Polly explained.

Given Vi’s recent discovery of physical intimacies, she suspected that her siblings might not be napping—not that she wanted to think about her siblings and the word “intimacies” together in the same sentence. Eww. But she couldn’t blame her sisters for wanting private time with their husbands, not when she found herself constantly distracted by thoughts of Richard.

Imagine a lifetime of making love and playing sports,she thought dreamily.

At the same time, marriage wasn’t something one ought to rush into pell-mell. Hadn’t she promised Emma she’d be more careful? She and Carlisle had had their first kiss only three days ago—although she realized now that she’d been attracted to him far longer. Probably since she pushed him into the fountain. And the intensity of all they’d shared in the past few days made her feel as if they’d known each other for ages. Yet in reality they hadn’t…

That was the problem with thinking: like a dog chasing its own tail, she could go round and round forever and never get anywhere.

Too much thinking makes me… hungry.

Her attention veered to the spread of pastries on the coffee table, which were accompanied by pots of preserves and clotted cream. She accepted a cup of fragrant tea from Gabby and happily helped herself to a plate of goodies.

She’d just taken her first mouthful when Rosie demanded, “Tell us everything. And, for heaven’s sake, don’t spare the good details.”

“Yes, I’m dying to know how the investigation is going,” Gabby said. “Father never tells me anything.”

“Just to be clear, I wasn’t referring to the investigation,” Rosie said, “but Viscount Carlisle.Everyone’s noticed that he’s been paying you marked attention, Vi.”

“Have the two of you overcome your differences?” Polly said softly.

Violet looked at the trio’s eager, wide-eyed expressions and swallowed the bite of cream cake. Gulping tea to wash it down, she said, “As to the investigation, I’m not supposed to say anything. Ambrose made us promise to keep things confidential.”

“Papa didn’t mean you couldn’t tell family,” Rosie said with a pout.

Ambrose’s instructions rang in Violet’s head. The details of the investigation must be kept confidential—and that includes the girls. I don’t want their young minds burdened by such dark business. And, for the love of God, say nothing to Rosie—or the entire party will know every last detail of the case by suppertime.

It was true. When it came to gossip, Rosie was like a bird with shiny objects: she liked to collect and show off her glittering bits of knowledge. And being a popular girl, Rosie was a never-ending source of the latest on dit.

Which gave Violet an idea. With Rosie, information flowed both ways. One could learn a lot from the vivacious girl.

“What are the guests saying?” Vi said casually. “About Madame Monique’s death, I mean?”

“Oh, it’s just the usual mélange of fact, fiction, and speculation,” Rosie said airily, “with no way of telling which is which. Although the official story given by Gabby’s papa was that Monique’s death was an accident, I’ve heard all sorts of rumors.”

“Such as?”

The pretty blonde tapped a slender finger against her chin. “Some are saying that Monique’s death resulted from her trying a new daredevil trick in the library. Others say she was drinking too much and hit her head. I even heard one version where,”—Rosie’s voice lowered to a dramatic whisper—“she was pushed by a jealous lover.”

Vi’s pulse raced. “Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t recall, exactly. It might have been Goggston or Parnell.” Rosie frowned. “Or was it one of the other fellows?”

“She’s surrounded by so many gentlemen that she can’t keep them straight,” Gabby said with a droll expression.

“They all seem interchangeable after a while,” Rosie agreed saucily. “All the same talk about horses, sporting—and I’m sure when we’re not around—wenching.”

“That’s only fair given that we’re talking about them when they’re not around,” Vi pointed out reasonably.

Rosie pursed her lips. “But it’s not exactly the same, is it? We don’t talk about them in the same fashion. Why, I can’t even think of a female equivalent for the word ‘wenching’.”

With a grin, Vi suggested, “Menching?”

All the girls laughed, except Polly, whose brows knitted. “I’m sure not all gentleman are interested in that topic. Ambrose isn’t, for example.”

“Papa is different.” Rosie’s polished façade slipped, her green eyes soft with girlish adoration. “He’s a prince among men.”

“Well, I hope there’s more than one prince. Because the gentlemen I’ve met so far are frogs.” Gabby popped a jam tartlet into her mouth and chewed.

“As to frogs,” Rosie said casually, “have you kissed Carlisle yet, Vi?”

The sneak attack took Violet by surprise. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the telltale heat from rising in her cheeks. Her hands went clammy, her pulse stuttering.

“Oh my goodness, you did!” Rosie shrieked. “You kissed him!”

“Thunderbolts, lower your voice,” Vi said desperately. “Do you want the entire party to know?”

“So you do like him.” Polly’s aquamarine eyes shone. “I knew it!”

“He has… grown on me,” Vi admitted.

“Like moss on a log. How utterly romantic,” Rosie said, giggling.

Vi glanced at Gabby, who hadn’t said anything, and worry fluttered. Even though the other had repeatedly expressed her lack of interest in Carlisle, would she be all right with Violet making a match with him?

Gabby’s blue eyes rounded. “Are you certain you like Carlisle?”

“I am. I misjudged him, you see. He and I have much more in common than I would have ever guessed, and, beneath his gruff exterior, he’s a jolly good chap.”

“Then I’m ever so happy for you.”

Relief rolled through Vi. “Thank you, Gabby.”

“No, thank you,” the other girl said with an impish smile, “for now Papa can’t push me into a future I don’t want—er, no offense.”

“None taken. I know Carlisle is an acquired taste,” Vi said ruefully.

“So will we be your maids of honor?” Rosie chimed in. “I adore weddings. Thea’s was ever so much fun. Remember how you caught the bouquet, Violet? Why, you snatched it mid-air—disappointing more than a few unmarried ladies, let me tell you.”

“Did you want to catch the bouquet, Rosie?” Polly asked before Vi could cut in.

“Of course not, silly. Why would I want to get married when I’m having so much fun? I’d far rather go to someone else’s wedding—”

“Hold it right there, Rosie,” Vi said with panicked emphasis. “You’re bringing the cart before the horse. Nothing has been decided yet. So I’d appreciate it if you kept my relationship with Carlisle under wraps.”

“Of course,” Rosie said innocently. “When have I ever leaked a secret?”

Crumpets, Violet thought. I’m doomed.