Page 1 of Most Sought-After Scoundrel in London
Seated at her mahogany desk, Lady Violet held her quill poised at the ready as the late afternoon sunlight streamed through the leaded windows of her chambers at Matron Manor.The bare starched white parchment stretched out before her.It was the exact same as she’d left it the night before and the day before that—blank.Violet closed her eyes as her quill tapped an erratic rhythm against her cheek.Why in the world was she at a loss for words?The verses that had previously poured out with veracity now escaped her entirely.Tamping down the mounting anxiety building within, she opened her eyes, exhaling a deep breath slowly.She’d become too complacent, living within the safe confinement of Matron Manor these past months with the warmth and support of her fellow widows about her.She turned her gaze toward the manicured gardens where her fellow Wicked Widows were enjoying a game of pall-mall with bright smiles.While her companions all appeared to be rather carefree and enjoying the fruits of widowhood, Violet knew that most were like her, who had escaped the harrowing bonds of marriage only to be faced with a new set of challenges.
The gleeful scene before her faded to a blur as the memories of the past flooded her consciousness.Quill stilled mid-air, she murmured, "Ten years… Ten blooming years." Her voice barely above a whisper she continued, "How swiftly time flies, yet how slowly it crawls."
Her fingers absently traced the gold band that still adorned her left hand—a reminder of a union that had brought her nothing but sorrow and financial ruin.The bitter taste of regret lingered on her tongue as she recalled her late husband's betrayal.Damn Arnold Price, Baron Willowbridge, and his mistress to hell for all eternity.She may have gained the title of Lady Willowbridge but Violet would have preferred to subject herself to scrutiny and weathered a Season or two than be forced to marry.It was only after she found herself all alone in Arnold’s barely furnished lower west side abode that she discovered that the charming and romantic Baron Willowbridge had married her solely to obtain her modest dowry.Not even a full day after they had said their nuptials, her husbandabsconded to the Continent with his mistress.
Violet’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile.While she may have had to endure the pressure from endless creditors, at least she was not the one who found themselves dead.Arnold’s death brought about a different set of difficulties, but also opportunities.Thrown out of the Willowbridge townhouse by Arnold’s family, Violet had little but the clothes she’d managed to pack in her valise and the ability to entertain others in the form of verses.Thank goodness for the Wicked Widows, who took her in and provided her with a safe haven.
She shook her head, dispelling the ghosts of the past, and returned her attention to the pristine page before her.The empty expanse of parchment seemed to mock her, a stark representation of the creative drought that had plagued her for weeks.
Come now, Violet, she chided herself, straightening her posture and dipping her quill into the inkwell with renewed determination.If you don't produce a new verse soon, you'll find yourself penniless and reliant upon others once more.And we simply cannot have that, can we?
Her fingers hovered over the page, willing the words to flow as they once had.Under the guise of Ms.Louisa Herman, Violet had found a freedom she had never known as a debutante or a wife.Her poetry, filled with lines about the ever-elusive emotion she sought, with its subtle critiques of society and celebration of feminine strength, had not only provided her with a modest income but had also given voice to the thoughts she had long kept buried.
Yet it had been months since her last verse had been completed and published.It seemed as if her muse had abandoned her much like her late husband, and her anxiety was mounting.Violet stared at the blank parchment, willing it to fill with the lyrical verses that sparked much discussion and exuberant debates amongst her peers.Except the spark of inspiration that had effortlessly appeared prior remained frustratingly elusive.
"Perhaps," she mused aloud, her brow furrowing in concentration, "it’s time I stop observing life from the shadows.Mayhap it’s time..."She paused, a rueful laugh escaping her lips."Time for me to embark on the next phase of my life."
Why was she not outside with her fellow Wicked Widows?Matron Manor was full of women with tales to be told.Violet stood abruptly, pacing the length of her chamber with restless energy.Her reflection caught her eye as she passed the ornate mirror hanging above the fireplace.She studied the woman staring back at her—her cheeks no longer held the innocence of youth, yet her more defined features still beheld a glow that bespoke a budding desire to be explored.With eyes that held a weariness beyond her years she asked her reflection, "Is this to be my fate?Forever the observer, never a participant?”
The silence of her chambers offered no answer, and Violet turned away from the mirror with a sigh.She returned to her desk, picking up her quill once more.Her marriage had been a sham.She’d barely spoken more than a dozen words to her husband before he fled.Her verses were the imaginings of a naive woman—she was a charlatan writing of love.
Giving her head a good shake, she whispered, "Come now, Louisa, focus."Addressing her alter ego, she continued, "Surely you have one more verse in you.One that shall set thetonon its heels."
But as she touched quill to parchment, the words still refused to come.Violet closed her eyes, searching within herself for that spark of creativity that had sustained her for so long.Yet all she found was a growing restlessness, a yearning for something more than the life she had carved out for herself.Her gaze fell back upon the women outside.
With a newfound resolve hardening her voice, Violet declared, "It's time for Violet Beckett to join the world and create some verses based on reality not the mere fantasies of a woman trapped in her own imagination."
Violet stood set to join the others, yet her legs refused to move as if somehow her feet were glued to the worn wood planks of her chamber.What in the blazes are you doing?She balled her hands into fists at her side.
A peal of laughter broke her out of her daze.Marching to the door, Violet stomped her way through Matron Manor.Taking the bonnet held out for her from the butler, she popped it upon her head and tied the ribbon tightly beneath her chin as if she were donning armor before heading out to war.She scanned the sprawling gardens, bustling with women engaged in a variety of games and activities.To her surprise, there were more widows outside than the group playing pall-mall she’d seen from her chambers.Had she always narrowed her perspective on life?
Violet took in the scene before her, and despite the initial surge of courage that had landed her in the middle of the gaiety, she found herself shrinking back to skirt about the perimeter.
“Violet!Woohoo… Lady Violet,” Lady Bertha called out, beckoning her to come join the small group gathered about in the center of the lawn with an enthusiastic wave.Lady Bertha was always full of energy, and her company was highly sought after by both men and women alike.
As if she were a moth drawn to a flame, Violet made her way to the gaggle of women and smiled.“A good afternoon to you, Lady Bertha.”
“I’m telling you, ladies, Lady Violet shall have the answers we seek.”
Six pairs of eyes were trained on Violet, and the exposed skin on the back of Violet’s neck prickled.She remained the center of the women’s attention, and she forced herself not to fidget or run away.Instead, she waited for Lady Bertha to continue but the widow was grinning from ear to ear, beaming with delight.Not wanting to be the one to dampen the mood, Violet donned a bright smile and asked, “What questions did you have for me?”
Ms.Milligan, one of the newest members of the Wicked Widows’ League, answered, “Lady Bertha claims that with your keen skills of observation, you must know which gentleman would be considered by the majority as the most intriguing, which of the bachelors is the most astute, and who is the most scandalous of scoundrels amongst theton.”
“Me?”Violet turned to face Lady Bertha.“How could I possibly know?”
Brows knitted, Lady Bertha countered, “How could you not know?You are constantly observing and making notes in that journal of yours.You must know.”Lady Bertha lifted her chin.“I’m never wrong about these matters.”
Lady Bertha had been a pillar of support when Violet had found herself all alone in London.Had it not been for Lady Bertha… Well, she had no idea how she would have survived those first few years of widowhood.Violet’s mind raced with names of gentlemen who were gossiped about, and of those she had admittedly spied on from the fringes.But who was she to deem which gentleman was the most intriguing or the most astute?
With a shake of her head, Violet said, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lady Bertha, but I can't say with certainty that the majority would agree with my observations.However, I could conduct a poll.”
Eyes wide, Lady Bertha clapped her hands together.“Then it is settled.We shall eagerly await the results of your inquiries.”Lady Bertha’s all-knowing gaze scanned the group before she added, “I told you Lady Violet was the most knowledgeable.”
If only Violet had as much confidence in herself as Lady Bertha had in her.What in the blazes had she involved herself in?A poll would require her to approach others to ask questions that could easily be misconstrued.With no intention of binding herself to another again, she had no interest in becoming entangled with a gentleman.She had to devise a plan to obtain the information Lady Bertha sought and remain impartial, for she was very self-aware that once she embarked upon discovering who the most desired gentlemen of the ton was, her curiosity might just get the best of her.
Who would her fellow Wicked Widows deem the most scandalous of scoundrels?
Cameron Crestwood, the Earl of Hurlington, aimlessly strolled down Bond Street.The last remaining bachelor in his set, he scanned the street before him with a skepticism that had haunted him for weeks.
