Page 4 of The Devil and the Heiress
The next characters were an older couple. Snooty and full of their own influence in their small corner of the world, the Ashcrofts were everything Violet had come to expect from the older nobles, but they had been kind and welcoming to her family. Because they were friends with her parents, she had changed their names considerably to Lord and Lady Garfield.
Placing those aside, she picked up the last two: her American heiress and her English suitor. Lord Lucifer, the name she had chosen to represent Lord Leigh. She could not help the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips as she read the attributes beneath his name. Arrogant and entitled, he exuded wickedness. The whispers she had heard told the story of a man who overindulged himself in sensorypleasure—women, cards, and drink (possibly more). He owned a club with the Duke of Rothschild where all manner of illicit things happened. But it wasn’t only hedonism that she discerned in him. No, there was a danger about him that she couldn’t quite understand. As someone who believed herself capable of assessing the character of a person within a matter of minutes, that alone made him very intriguing. It didn’t hurt that he was also devilishly handsome. With thick dark hair, pale gray eyes, and cheekbones that could cut glass, she imagined that Lucifer himself would take his form should he deign to set foot upon the earth.
And the way he had gazed at her yesterday. A tiny thrill of pleasure worked its way down her spine as she remembered the look in his eyes from across the music room. He found her desirable. She would never encourage his pursuit because she was already engaged and that danger coupled with his debauched tendencies made him entirely unsuitable regardless, but she was flattered nonetheless. He was... something.
A polite knock sounded at the door a moment before a footman stepped inside. “Pardon me, miss.”
“Yes?” She hurried to arrange the papers so that he couldn’t read them. If this novel was ever published, it would have to be anonymously if she wanted to continue a peaceful relationship with her parents.
“This came for you special delivery.” He stepped forward and placed an envelope on the table next to her scone with strawberry jam and clotted cream, a delicious indulgence she didn’t believe needed to be relegated to teatime only.
She recognized the tight loops and practiced penmanship, even before she saw the sender’s name—Theodore Sutherland. Teddy had finally answered her pleas. Too late, but it was nice to see his name.
“Thank you,” she said to the footman. He gave a short bow and left her alone.
She and her family had arrived in London for the season only a month earlier. Violet and her sister, August, had naively believed that they were there to visit their friend from New York, Camille, the newly minted Duchess of Hereford, and partake in the city’s amusements. Little had they known that their parents were secretly plotting to wed one of them off to a nobleman.
The Crenshaws were considered new money among the Old New York crowd, hence they were often shunned in the established ballrooms on Fifth Avenue. A duke in the family would change everything. Violet had been their parents’ initial offering to the Duke of Rothschild, but he had decided to pursue August. No one had been more surprised than Violet when her older sister with her business-minded ambitions had fallen in love with him.
In a panic after Mother had proposed the marriage idea to her, Violet had both telegrammed and written to Teddy. He was the man she intended to marry. Yes, his family was from St. Louis and had earned their fortune in breweries—neither would gain him entrance into New York Society—but she didn’t care a whit about that. He was kind and thoughtful and supportive of her writing. After spending two summers together in Newport, he had asked her to marry him and she had said yes. She was not giving him up because her family wanted her to marry an aristocrat.
But all was settled now. She would have to write Teddy back and tell him so. She probably should have already written to him. Strange that she hadn’t felt the urgency to do so before now. Perhaps because she had been so relieved that August was happy.
Setting the letter aside, she took a sip of her tea and allowed herself to revel again in the character of Lord Lucifer. Perhaps she should have him indulge in an attempted seduction of the young American heiress in her book who was in town for the Season. Perhaps that young American heiress wouldn’t be nearly as virtuous as she should be.Heat suffused Violet’s cheeks as she imagined him stealing a kiss in a secluded corner at a ball.
“There you are, Violet, darling,” said Mother as she hurried into the room.
Violet startled to attention, nearly spilling her tea all over her papers in her bid to put them away. “Good morning, Mother.”
“What do you have there?” Mother’s artfully plucked brow rose as she sat down across from Violet at the round table.
Violet knew her mother meant the stack of facedown papers, but she picked up the letter to intentionally redirect her attention. “This? A letter from a friend.”
“Which one?” Mother asked, pouring herself a cup of tea. “I wasn’t aware the post had already come.”
Violet’s mouth went dry. Her parents didn’t quite approve of Teddy, and she wasn’t a very astute liar. That point had been driven home the one time she had wandered away from a summer party to walk with Teddy along the beach. They had done a fair bit more than walking. Mother had discovered her coming home with sand on her shoes and skirts, and one lie had led to another until the whole party had left to search for a missing bejeweled hairpin and a bedeviled seagull.
But Violet could hardly admit that she had written to Teddy in a pique of desperation.
“Amelia,” she said. More words threatened to spill from her lips like marbles scattering across the floor, so she bit her tongue to stop them.
After giving the letter another questioning glance, Mother seemed to accept the explanation. She couldn’t read a thing without her reading glasses anyway. “When you reply, please send my regards to her mother.”
“Of course.” Violet stifled her sigh of relief and tucked the letter into the papers, gathering the whole stack against her chest. “I’m sorry, but I was leaving.”
“Already? But I just sat down.”
“Papa has asked that I help him transcribe some letters. You know how illegible his own handwriting is.”
Mother nodded. “It is quite awful. I suppose with August running off, someone has to.” Neither she nor Papa had been very happy when August had accompanied their brother, Maxwell, on his return to New York, though knowing that the duke had joined her on the crossing had soothed them. August had been Papa’s right hand here in London, and with her gone, drafting correspondence had fallen to Violet. Not that she minded the extra task. It allowed her to spend time alone with him, and she appreciated the glimpse into the world he inhabited with her brother and sister. Working at Crenshaw Iron wasn’t in her blood, not like it was for them, but Violet enjoyed being useful.
“All right, then. I shall see you a little later. Don’t work too hard. Remember, we have the ball tonight. Lord Ware has agreed to play escort.”
“Lord Ware?” Pallid, dull, and with a tendency to stare at her breasts, Violet didn’t particularly care for him.
“Mmm.” Humming through her first swallow of tea, Mother said, “Do humor him, dear. The young man is all alone in London with no parents or relatives at all from what I can tell.”
“Fine.” Violet sighed. More stodgy people, but she shouldn’t complain because it was all fodder for her novels. Her other finished novel had featured the characters of High Society New York, so it was nice to have this change.
