The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Boxset 1 Page 19

  Victor grinned and snorted back a laugh, “So you told Danvers what? That Violet does not allow you to fly free?”

  “Just so,” Mr. Fredericks said, “that I wasn’t able to make any such investment until I heard from you directly. But I did look into the scheme, ma’am. I thought if I were mistaken on his intentions I should be prepared with the advice I normally provide.”

  Violet crossed her fingers in her lap and waited. She liked nothing about the situation and even with encouragement to invest, she didn’t think she’d follow it. She had solid investments with people who didn’t try to manipulate and lie their way into accessing her money.

  “I’m alarmed,” Mr. Fredericks admitted. “The amounts I hear bandied about for Mr. Danvers’s wealth don’t match up with what I’ve learned as I researched.”

  Victor was the one who leaned forward at that point. He lost his lazy spaniel look and asked silkily, “So Danvers is not as rich as he reports himself to be?”

  Fredericks shook his head. “I believe it is a…house of cards.”

  “And those who’ve invested with him?” Victor’s face was impassive stone and Violet shivered.

  “Are in a rather precarious fiscal situation.”

  Violet licked her lips, playing with the ring on her finger while she closed her eyes. It was worse than Fredericks could possibly know. Would her sister be marrying this Danvers if he were not rich? Of course she wouldn’t, though perhaps Danvers wouldn’t be marrying Isolde if not for her wealthy connections. Violet doubted it very much. The way he’d attempted to manipulate Fredericks told her Danvers was a man without honor. But also without money?

  She scowled. Danvers was using this new connection to Isolde to get access to Violet’s funds. She was suddenly certain that to Mr. Danvers, the prize was not Isolde, but her rich connections.

  Chapter 3

  Jack Wakefield in his evening clothes was enough to steal Violet’s breath and keep it captive. She smiled through it, walked down to his automobile with her hand on his arm. His bulk made her feel delicate, though she was hardly that, and the glint in his eyes made her feel beautiful. She hadn’t expected a pretty little Austin 7 when she’d imagined his car, but it seemed to suit him when he opened the door for her.

  “I confess,” he said as he handed her inside of the vehicle, “I was a little uncertain of where to bring you. I suppose you like jazz and dancing and clubs?”

  Violet nodded and admitted, “All of the usual things.”

  “Would you like to try something rather adventurous?” There was a certain tilt to his lips that was full of good humor, and his eyes were alight with challenge.

  “Of course,” she said merrily, laughing up at him. Her heart was in her throat, her veins were racing with anticipation, and she felt suddenly certain that she had always been intended to be right in this car, at right this moment, with this man. He had a seriousness to him that didn’t try to crush her light-heartedness. “You see before you a woman who fears nothing…let alone whatever it is you have planned.”

  His laugh was deep, and she felt warmed by it. She hadn’t heard it from him much. Things had been too dark and too serious when they’d been trying to stop Aunt Agatha’s murder. He didn’t explain his plan, simply wove his little automobile through the streets of London, parked, and handed her out onto a rather hole-in-the-wall-place. Most of the people nearby were of Indian descent.

  Jack grinned at her and asked, “Do you like spicy food?”

  “I’d have said yes, but I believe that most of the Indian food I’ve had was adjusted for our weaker palates.”

  “Next time, we’ll go to the Criterion.” Jack ordered for both of them and the food was quite different from what she was used to. Red sauce, rice, and interesting white chunks in it. She took her first bite tentatively and nodded at his somewhat anxious gaze. It wasn’t spicy at all, though he had ordered several spicy things. She waved her hand in front of her face when her nose started burning and had to carefully dab away the tears from her eyes to protect the kohl on her eyes.

  They were getting sideways looks from the other restaurant goers, but once she laughed off the burning, the other patrons went back to their food.

  “This isn’t hot,” she said, pointing to the red sauce with white chunks. “What are these things?”

  “They’re called paneer. I lived in India for a while and have been unable to return to our blander foods here. Though, you can’t beat our fish and chips.”

  “A favorite,” she admitted. “I missed them quite a bit when we were in Italy. Though already I’m regretting not having easy access to veal marsala.”

  It was easy to move from favorite foods to favorite books to favorite pastimes. Despite the changing clientele, who came in work clothes and grabbed dinner, Violet and Jack lingered over their food.

  She didn’t even notice time passing until Jack said, “I don’t believe this evening will be a success until we dance.”

  That was an offer she would never turn down. The nightclub, like the restaurant, was a bit of a hole-in-the-wall, though she barely noticed the dark walls, the clouds of smoke, or the crowded room. He swung her into a dance that left her breathless and laughing. A moment later, her gaze was caught by a couple in the corner.

  At first, she was just appalled that they were kissing so openly. The man had slick-backed hair and a triple set of chins. The young woman before him had to be younger than even Violet, and she had to be half his age.

  “Oh,” she said, blinking rapidly as though the smoke had somehow disguised what she was seeing. It hadn’t.

  “Are you all right?” Jack asked into her ear, having to lean down to reach her.

  She started to say yes and then shook her head.

  “Perhaps a drink?” she suggested, and Jack wove them off the dance floor, people moving out of his way instinctively.

  “What would you like to drink?”

  She shrugged and the bartender grinned at her, eyes up. Violet turned to him and asked, “What do you recommend?”

  “Always the house drink,” he said, in a way that made it clear he didn’t recommend it at all.

  Violet winked at the man. He was spiffy in a nice suit, with dark skin, hair, and eyes. His expression twinkled as Violet asked, “What if I resolutely turn the house drink down?”

  “Would you like something new?”

  Violet nodded, glancing up at Jack, who said, “I think we both would.”

  The man mixed them two drinks and handed them over. “This is called The Sidecar.”

  Violet took a careful sip. “Mmm.”

  “What is that?” Jack asked.

  “Cognac, orange liqueur, and lemon juice. Do you like it?”

  “Very much,” Violet agreed. She begged the ratios from him for Victor before grinning up at Jack.

  “How long may I keep you?” The question was light, but Violet felt as though if she answered forever, he’d take her up on the dare.

  “Not too late, I’m afraid,” she said, but she placed her hand on his wrist so he’d know she wasn’t escaping him. “My stepmother is having a dinner party tomorrow, and I have to show up with bells and smiles on to meet the scoundrel-in-law.”

  He laughed. “Already you’ve decided to dislike him?”

  “Early reports are…alarming.”

  A look of concern appeared as he led her towards the hall. They went right past that large man, who noticed her attention. He narrowed his gaze upon her, flicking over her meanly before turning back to his companion, as though Violet were the one who was acting amiss.

  Jack drove her home, walking her to the door. He pressed a solitary finger under her chin to turn her face up to his. The move made her wish for a kiss and her heart raced at that simple touch. The porch light put them in a circle of radiance while all around them was dark and silent. It wasn’t the early hours of the morning, but it was nearer than not.

  “Thank you for your company,” he said with a gentle smile. />
  Violet grinned and curtsied in reply.

  “May I call upon you again?”

  “Oh, I’d say so.” Vi winked as he squeezed her hand before seeing her inside of Victor’s house.

  “I thought I wouldn’t see you until the early hours.” Victor stepped out from the library as Violet shut the front door.

  “I thought you were going out,” she told him. “What’s this? Shirtsleeves, a tie hanging around your neck, and ruffled hair?”

  “I was going to meet Denny and Lila, only then I had an idea for the story. I just had to get it down. The next thing I knew, you were coming through the door. Didn’t it go well?”

  “Oh, Jack was…well.” Violet cleared her throat, knowing she was blushing, and her brother laughed back at her.

  After meeting Jack, she was suddenly willing to consider a different future—if he was who she thought. He had charms enough to bend her will towards that path. She slowly undressed, putting away her jewelry, hanging up her dress, arranging her shoes and her coat where they belonged before noticing an amethyst book on her desk. There was a lovely pen next to it.

  Victor must have made a stop at some point or sent out Giles. The journal was just what she wanted. Vi put on a kimono that Victor had purchased for her in Italy and then a robe. Slipping her feet into warm slippers, she sat down at her desk. Her mind was moving too quickly towards including Jack in all things, and it was worrying her.

  Was she intrigued by him and attracted? Yes. Had they bonded over a quite intense period over the holidays? Yes. But could she trust her future to the instincts that came out of those weeks? No. Who was Jack when the pressure wasn’t on? Who was he when his father wasn’t in the house and he hadn’t been brought in to be the savior?

  And, for that matter, he wasn’t even offering anything other than another dinner and perhaps another dance.

  Vi quite wanted to shake herself. Perhaps it was Isolde’s fate of marrying so quickly that had Violet’s mind skipping ahead without using rational, logical steps.

  Violet sketched out her thoughts in her journal and came to the conclusion that as much as she liked Jack—and oh, she did—she could not possibly race ahead. Not when her future was so wrapped up in such a decision.

  Chapter 4

  The evening of the dinner party, Violet twirled in front of her brother in one of her new Parisian evening gowns. It was a dark teal green with a gold lace overlay. With wide straps and a rather higher neckline, it was near modesty while still having the Eastern opulence that Violet loved.

  She wore a long strand of pearls and a feather and pearl headpiece with the lightest amounts of kohl and rouge, leaving her the bright young thing she was without attempting to push her stepmother too far.

  Victor frowned at her. “Dearest darling, nothing you wear will be sufficient for our garrulous stepmother, especially with Isolde present. I say slather on the rouge, thicken up that black stuff on your eyes, and wear the dress with the pink fringe.”

  Victor’s hair was slicked back and he wore a grey suit with a vest and a blue tie, and he carried a cane with a dragon’s head at the tip.

  “You look dashing, Victor,” she told him, laughing merrily and then pointing out, “Certainly whomever our dear stepmother has invited for you will find you handsome indeed.”

  Violet joined him in the back of the Silver Ghost. Giles drove the automobile through the busy streets to the ancient Carlyle house, which was lit up with shadows in the windows.

  “Courage, dear one,” Victor said, speaking to them both.

  They’d considered time and again if Lady Eleanor would become more commanding or less now that they were settled financially, and they’d never been able to reach a conclusion.

  “It’s not like we don’t already know she favors her children.” Vi adjusted her dress and looked up at the house that had never felt as much like home as Aunt Agatha’s.

  Before they could knock, the butler, Thornton, opened the door. “Lady Violet.” There was a light in his eye that said he remembered when he’d helped them sneak biscuits from the kitchens. “Lord Victor. They are waiting for you in the blue salon.”

  Victor held out his arm, and Violet put her hand on his elbow and squeezed. Neither of them took much note of the oversized foyer or the staircase that curved up to an opulent landing with large paintings for each step. The painted ceilings and ancient crystal chandeliers overhead didn’t garner a blink. This had long since become old hat.

  Thornton opened the salon door and Lady Eleanor turned with a bright smile. There was a crowd of gentlemen and ladies present who were more Lady Eleanor’s age than Violet would have guessed for a dinner party for her younger half-sister.

  She recognized her stepmother’s brother and cousin right away, both of whom nodded to the twins. Markus Kennington was the brother of Lady Eleanor while Norman was the cousin. Violet smiled at both of them without quite allowing them to draw her into their conversations. Victor hummed under his breath, and the veneer of the light-hearted spaniel dropped over him without a flicker of a lash.

  “Wonderful.” Lady Eleanor presented her cheek for a kiss. “We’ve missed you both. You’re the last to arrive, so we can enjoy drinks.”

  Violet’s answering smile didn’t reach her eyes, but Lady Eleanor either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Of course, Lady Eleanor’s face and tone didn’t reflect the irritation Violet was sure her stepmother felt. How dare they be the last of the guests to appear?

  “Don’t you look lovely,” Lady Eleanor said to Violet, and then turned to Isolde.

  Violet took in the sight of her sister. She still looked alarmingly young. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon and her dress was a charming light pink with layers of fringe. It formed to her body, as Isolde had more curves than was quite the thing. Violet’s slender frame was more in fashion—a lucky happenstance, for she did not watch what she ate.

  Standing next to her was a man who made Isolde seem more than young—a mere babe. This fellow was nothing more than a cradle snatcher. He niggled at Violet’s mind and then she realized that this was the man Violet had seen kissing a woman in the nightclub. A woman who was not her sister.

  She was quite sure he recognized her as well. Violet fiddled with the ring on her finger and then turned to grin at Thornton as he passed around a tray of drinks, happy for the distraction. She made a surprised face as Thornton showed her the two options.

  “Thornton, the man of the hour.” She grinned at him. “What are these delights?”

  “Lady Isolde wanted unusual drinks this evening, but there is another tray of gin and tonic going about if you’d prefer, m’lady.”

  Violet tossed him a saucy wink and said, “Oh, I want something exciting and new. How clever of Isolde to have you sleuth out new drinks.”

  “Well then, m’lady, the slightly yellow drink is called the bee’s knees.”

  “What a fun name. And the pretty reddish one?”

  “That is the aviation fizz.”

  “Frivolous and delightful.” Violet took the reddish one and turned back to Victor. “You try the other and we’ll switch.”

  Lady Eleanor’s face had frozen with poorly disguised irritation as Violet chose her drink. Vi looked over and saw her father with a scotch in his hand. She winked at him across the room and he started towards them with their eldest brother, Gerald, in tow.

  Lady Eleanor turned to Isolde as Violet’s smile transformed from blank to forced. “Darling, you should consider a bob like Violet’s. It sets of the line of her neck and jaw so well. You both have those lovely fox lines in your features. That comes from the Carlyle line. Though you get your coloring from me and Violet gets hers from her mother. Equally lovely, really. Like different sides of the same coin.”

  Vi blinked rapidly and glanced at Victor, whose mouth was twitching. They each lifted their drinks and sipped to avoid needing to answer.

  “May I present Mr. Danvers,” Isolde asked, smiling p
rettily. “My betrothed.”

  Victor’s spaniel demeanor was in full-force as he choked back the protective elder brother.

  “Oh that’s sweet,” Victor murmured as he lowered his drink. He stepped in with greetings while Violet recovered herself.

  Mr. Danvers was 50 years old if he was a day. He was beyond rotund to full fat, and he had a mean twist to his mouth. There were large rings on three of his fingers and his slicked back hair smelled. And, of course, Violet had seen him kissing another woman just the evening before.

  Isolde’s smile was serene, though she was careful to adjust her hand so Violet could see the large diamond on her finger.

  “What a lovely ring,” Violet said, pasting a vacuous expression on her face. She took another sip of her drink.

  “Darling girl,” her father said, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing before he shook Victor’s hand. “How was the coast?”

  Violet chattered about the art while Victor made passing comments about some fellow he’d met who was a friend of their father.

  Isolde cut in before long, looking a little aggrieved. Had they been leaving her out? Violet hadn’t congratulated her sister but that level of a lie was quite beyond Vi at the moment. Instead, she commented on Isolde’s dress.

  Vi’s acting ability was pressed to its limit and past. Not only had her stepmother not attacked either of the twins with their deficits—a previously favorite pastime—Isolde had been encouraged to be more like Violet. That had never happened in the entirety of Isolde’s life.

  Violet sidestepped Victor and Danvers before dinner to speak with her father and found him smiling down at her.

  “Haven’t much liked how you flit about with Victor since you and Vic graduated from college, darling. Now I’d like to see Isolde do a bit of the same. Bit young, isn’t she, to be getting wed?”