Page 35 of How to Start a Scandal

It was Seth’s turn to sigh. ‘The man is inept at handling himself around women, I’m afraid. I assure you, the fault is not with you.’

‘You spoke with him?’ Caroline gave Seth her clear and undivided attention. ‘Did he say why he had not asked me to dance?’

Seth caught sight of Rawley across the room, hugging a wall as dearly as any wallflower. Perhaps Seth ought not to be so honest with Caroline. Except that his sister regarded him with wide, desperate eyes. If he didn’t know her better, he’d swear she was on the verge of tears. Placating her with a lie would not do.

Forgive me, Rawley.

‘He lost his card with the dance steps on it,’ Seth conceded.

‘He has a card with dance steps on it?’

‘Well, he had.’ Seth stressed the last word. ‘Or he would be swirling you about the dance floor by now, I wager.’

Caroline pressed her hands to her chest and her face took on a dreamy expression. ‘Oh, he is just too precious.’

For the first time since his return to London society, Seth found himself wishing for a visit from Kentworth. He could use some of that lemonade.

‘Seth, I have one more favour to ask of you.’ Caroline folded her hands in front of her waist.

‘Go on.’ He nodded.

She glanced about to ensure no one was near enough to hear them. The supper room, however, was absent of anyone but them.

‘I want to take lessons,’ Caroline whispered.

What an odd thing to whisper about.

‘What sort of lessons?’ He matched her volume by way of teasing her more than in sincerity. ‘Water colours? Bonnet making? I confess, I know of a cat who would benefit well from your handiwork.’

‘No.’ She giggled. ‘Seduction.’

Seth straightened and looked through the crowd for Kentworth in earnest. He could truly use some of that bloody lemonade.

The house had gone silent the following day. Which is exactly what Violet had been waiting for. She had never set a time with Seth to meet him in the garden and they’d had to leave before she’d managed to arrange it. That had been an oversight on her part, a detail she’d been too rattled by nerves to adequately consider.

Lady Hollingston had taken Felicity to Gunter’s for an ice. Violet had been invited to join them, but had declined. Not only because she wanted this opportunity to be alone to venture into the garden, but also because she tried to avoid eating any sweets when around her mother.

If she accepted a treat, she would be lectured on how she ought to avoid them. If she declined a treat, she would be lectured on how good it was to avoid them. Regardless, it always resulted in a lecture and the feeling of utter self-hatred for her plump, impossible body.

Violet leaned against the window to look out into the small formal garden behind their home, most of which was obstructed by the large elm tree. No one appeared to be outside. If memory served correctly, the gardener came on Tuesdays. Definitely not Thursdays.

Violet allowed Susan to secure a straw bonnet to her head with a perfect bow tied just by her right ear. She wouldn’t be caught without a bonnet again. Once done, Violet quietly slipped from the house, making doubly sure no naughty feline followed. As she had assessed, the garden was empty. Unfortunately, so was Lord Dalton’s.

In an effort to appear normal, she strolled along by the flowerbeds, mainly in areas she thought might be most visible from Dalton Place next door. She marvelled at the roses and the heady, sweet jasmine. She was just getting to the peonies when the click of a door opening pulled her attention to Dalton Place and the very handsome dark-haired gentleman entering the garden.

He grinned at her and approached the hedge, scanned quickly about and navigated the gap between their properties with considerable ease. Violet smoothed a hand down her white muslin day dress and belatedly realised she ought to have picked a more vibrant gown. At least something with a bit of colour to it.

‘Lady Violet.’ He bowed. ‘Imagine finding you out here.’

‘Imagine.’ She sauntered to him and glanced up from beneath the brim of her bonnet.

He was immaculately turned out, as always, with his hair slightly mussed in a way that made her want to run her hands through the short strands. ‘I enjoyed our dance,’ he said in a low voice.

Her cheeks went hot. Heavens, was she blushing already? ‘As did I,’ she replied in a voice too shy for her own liking.

‘I’m sorry it was six years late.’ A muscle worked in his jaw.

She shook her head. ‘Think nothing of it.’