Page 8 of One Night of Scandal
Val would help her. Probably. Maybe. After years of suffering Grandmama’s sole focus regarding marriage, he would surely be sympathetic. Or perhaps he’d simply shrug and say it was Viola’s turn.
No, he wouldn’t do that. He understood why she’d called off her wedding even though the church had filled with guests. Furthermore, he’d supported her then just as he did now.
As they approached the front door of the town house, Grandmama murmured, “Don’t forget what I said. There will be single gentlemen in attendance.”
She’d timed the comment perfectly, because Viola didn’t have time to respond before the butler greeted them and welcomed them inside. They gave their wraps to a footman and went upstairs to the drawing room.
Tables arranged with newspapers, caricatures, and natural objects Mr. Poole had brought back from a recent visit to the outer islands of Scotland were scattered about the room. Viola spotted rocks and shells and even a glass bottle filled with sand. She’d decided to come to this soirée because it was to be a conversation party, meaning there would be a great deal of conversation,plusPoole had many friends in the House of Commons. Viola hoped to hear something about the mystery MP who might have assisted the radicals.
“Find me a seat, if you will,” Grandmama said, drawing Viola’s attention from the tables.
“Of course.” Viola escorted her to a table near the center of the room, where she could see and be seen. “Will this do?”
Grandmama sank into the chair and arranged her skirt to drape attractively about her legs and feet. “Quite, thank you.” Her gaze went to the door. “Oh, here are Eastleigh and Isabelle.”
Viola turned to see her brother and sister-in-law coming toward them. Now she was doubly glad she’d come.
“Good evening,” Val said with a touch of surprise. “I didn’t realize you would be here.” Because more often than not, Viola didn’t accompany their grandmother out.
Viola shrugged. “You know I like a good conversation party.”
He arched a brow, indicating he perhaps didn’t know that at all, but said nothing.
“I’m especially glad you’re here,” Isabelle said, lowering her voice to add, “I’m still a trifle nervous.”
A former governess, Isabelle had been hesitant to become a duchess, but true love had won out, and now she was one of the most sought-after guests in town. When she attended a ball or a rout, the hostess was instantly celebrated. It was, to Viola and to Isabelle, absurd.
“Don’t be,” Grandmama responded. “You are the toast of London this Season. You and Lady Penelope. Has she settled on a match yet?”
Viola and Isabel blinked at each other. As if either one of them would know. Violashouldknow since she made a career of writing gossip, but she focused on gentlemen. As far as she was aware, no one had made an offer. “Nothing I’ve heard about,” Viola said. “Perhaps she’ll be here tonight since there will apparently be a stock of eligible bachelors.” She didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm from her tone.
Grandmama said nothing but shot Viola a vexed glance before turning her attention to Val. “How is the circulating library coming?”
He smiled at his wife. “You’ll have to ask Isabelle, as it is entirely her endeavor.”
“Not entirely,” Isabelle said with a light laugh. “You’ve plenty of opinions on which books we should stock.”
He nodded. “This is true, and it is quite difficult not to buy them all.”
Viola was so glad to see her brother happy. He’d been in love with Isabelle—secretly—for a decade, and Viola was glad that her brother was one of the lucky few to find a person with whom he could be entirely himself. It was much harder for women, and not just because they outnumbered the men due to the war. Isabelle, however, had landed one of the good ones.
They chatted for a few more minutes before Val went to speak with another gentleman and Grandmama’s dearest friend, Lady Dunwich, arrived. Once she was seated next to Grandmama, Viola felt as though she could step away and meander among the tables. Isabelle joined her.
“So these rocks and shells are from,” Isabelle leaned toward the table to read the card, “Arran. And we’re to discuss them?”
“Yes, they’re to spark conversation. As are the newspapers and caricatures.”
Isabelle inclined her head toward the caricature on the table featuring two women in outlandish hats. “I’m not sure what to say about that other than have you ever seen a hat like that?”
“Of course not. Hats like that don’t actually exist. And neither do women who look like that.” One was very tall and excessively thin, while the other was squat and impossibly round.
“This is supposed to prompt meaningful discourse?” Isabelle shook her head. “They should have placed books on the tables. Those arerealconversation starters.”
Viola nodded enthusiastically. “I couldn’t agree more.” She glanced toward her grandmother to check on her as she often did when they were out together. Two gentlemen stood speaking with her and her friend. Grandmama’s gaze drifted toward Viola, and the gentlemen followed it.
“Blast,” Viola breathed.
“What’s wrong?” Isabelle asked with concern.
