Page 11 of How to Start a Scandal

‘Ah, yes.’ His brow furrowed slightly. ‘Forgive me for my abrupt departure. I’m afraid I suddenly felt rather unwell.’

His gaze was so earnest with remorse that she was left feeling very much like the idiot in the conversation this time. Whatever witty retort Violet might have had at the ready died on her tongue. He would never have looked thusly, so sincere in his youth when he’d been wild and unrepentant.

Maybe he had changed.

‘You did appear unwell,’ she offered by way of apology. ‘I trust you are quite recovered.’

‘I am in better spirits.’ He gave her a genuine smile that nearly knocked the low-heeled slippers from her feet with its charm. ‘Especially now.’

Heavens, but he could turn on his allure when he wished to.

‘I believe this is your carriage, is it not?’ He stopped.

Regret pinched at her. Though the sprinkling of rain had increased as they strolled and the humidity in the air promised a proper and thorough storm, she could have spent the rest of the afternoon at his side. ‘It is,’ she conceded. ‘Thank you.’

He didn’t wait for the footman to scramble down from his perch. Instead, Lord Dalton put his gloved hand to the handle of the door and opened it for her, first assisting Violet into the small cabin and then Susan. This set both ladies flushing with pleasure as he bid them good day and snapped closed the door once more.

‘Well,’ Susan said with an exuberant exhale. ‘He seems to have changed.’

‘Indeed he has.’ Violet peered out the window at his departing figure.

‘And he appears to be rather taken with you.’ Susan lifted her thin brows at Violet as her hazel eyes twinkled with delight.

Violet scoffed. ‘A war hero returning home to an earldom and a ballroom filled with available debutantes would hardly pull a spinster from her shelf and dust her off for the wedding of the ages.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t see that tale headlining any articles of the Lady Observer.’

Susan appeared nonplussed. ‘It’s not impossible. I’m sure your cousin the Duchess’s situation seemed just as hopeless. More so, perhaps.’

Violet adjusted her skirts rather than watch Lord Dalton sweep past the window. ‘It’s of little concern regardless,’ she said. ‘I have no intention to wed.’

Susan did sigh at this, a soft resigned sound. ‘Pity, that. You’d be a fetching pair if I do say so myself.’ Silence fell over the carriage before her voice continued. ‘If it wasn’t for Lord Fords—’

‘Don’t,’ Violet choked out. ‘Don’t say his name.’

Susan immediately pressed her lips together to still her words. It didn’t matter. Violet needed only hear his title and her folly the night of her come out rushed back at her.

Lord Fordson. He’d happened upon her when she was freshly wounded from Seth’s dismissal and her mother’s disappointment. He’d filled that first dance of her debut that Seth had left open, as well as another towards the end of the ball.

Afterward, they’d gone out on the veranda for a bit of fresh air and received far more than a little rosiness in their cheeks from the outing. Violet had been wholly taken by him, by the way he’d gazed as her as though she was the only woman in the room. He had made her feel worthy of love. He’d made her feel beautiful.

All the way up until the next day when he did not call. He hadn’t as much as sent flowers. When next they saw one another, he avoided her. It had taken a moment for her to realise he was intentionally edging away from her, but once the understanding dawned on her, it came with a fresh wave of hurt. And the truth of exactly what a fool she had been.

It still cut now, even six years later.

Now, Violet looked up too quickly in the carriage and caught Lord Dalton’s gaze on her as they rolled away. Her heart, silly and stupid as it was, gave a little leap.

And though she could not bring herself to even hear his name any longer, Violet found herself agreeing with Susan. It was indeed a pity Violet was not going to wed, but it was certainly nothing that would change.

No matter how tempting the man.

Chapter Four

After Seth delivered Lady Violet to her carriage, he made his way back to his own where it sat idly on the street waiting for him to return. He’d insisted on stopping so he might attend to Lady Violet whom he’d seen walking with her maid in what promised to be a violent summer storm.

He’d meant to smooth over what he’d rumpled the night before. Judging from the faint colour touching her cheeks when he saw her into the carriage, he’d succeeded.

His intention in speaking to her had been to apologise and now he had done exactly that. There would be no further need to speak to Lady Violet in the days that followed. He would leave her to her life of feminine pursuits—watercolour paintings and shopping and the like. And he would continue salvaging what bits of his life he could scrape into a semblance of wholeness once more.

‘To White’s,’ he told the footman.