Page 25 of How to Start a Scandal

Seth leaned back in his chair and actually chuckled. Of all the challenges he faced upon his return to London, this would be by far the easiest.

The mirth died on his lips as he considered his own relationship. What had he done on the night of Violet’s ball? He glanced out the window to where he could see the small garden at the back of Hollingston House. Violet was not out there.

Not that he had expected her to be when they both had only recently returned inside. However, he would remain vigilant. If she went out once more and he had the good fortune to catch her alone, he fully intended to ask her exactly what had happened the night of her debut.

He had to know, even though he suspected it would be excruciatingly terrible. Something that would require more than a single dance to make reparations.

Chapter Eight

Violet slipped out in the dead of night once more, this time with a different driver who Lottie had recommended. And this time with five questions that were carefully selected from a long list she’d composed earlier that afternoon. If she divided them between her lessons, she could glean everything she needed from Lottie for her exposé.

The list had taken the better part of her afternoon, pieced together in the shreds of time when Felicity was otherwise engaged. It would all be worth it.

When she arrived and the butler showed Violet into the drawing room, she did not hesitate as she removed her domino and mask. The gown beneath was blue silk with a tulle overlay on the skirt where whorls of silk ribbon had been stitched. It was perhaps too fine for the occasion, except the last visit had left Violet feeling shabby by comparison to Lottie’s beauty.

While Violet could not change her body shape, much to her chagrin, she could at least choose a more flattering frock.

Lottie entered the room, carrying the glass of wine herself, which she handed to Violet with a sweet smile. ‘It is so good to see you again.’ Her gaze skimmed over Violet. ‘You look positively radiant. That colour suits you.’

The compliment was genuinely given, but even with the exuberance of Lottie’s words, Violet’s attire was nothing compared to the plain green gown Lottie wore. Unadorned and simple, it served to only call attention to her perfect figure.

Just beyond her was a bouquet of hothouse flowers the likes of which Violet had never seen. It was the perfect deflection from compliments, physical appearances and painful failures. ‘Goodness, those are lovely.’ She indicated to the bunch of lilies and roses with bits of ivy woven between them.

Lottie glanced at them and a wounded expression flickered in her eyes. She recovered with a quick smile. ‘Thank you. They’re from an old friend.’ She redirected her attention to Violet. ‘Shall we begin?’

Violet nodded, fully prepared with her carefully selected questions lodged in her mind.

‘I realise you may have concerns about me,’ Lottie said by way of opening. ‘I also realise you are taking a significant risk in coming here.’

Violet opened her mouth, but hesitated, unsure of how to respond to such a bald statement.

Lottie put a hand up. ‘You needn’t say anything. It’s only that I want you to know, so you understand where I’ve been and why I am doing this now. You see, a lifetime ago, I was a vicar’s daughter.’

Her claim took Violet aback. How did a vicar’s daughter become a courtesan?

‘It was foolish, I know.’ Lottie’s cheeks coloured prettily. ‘But I fell in love and I gave too much.’

It was Violet’s turn to feel her face grow hot. She was quite aware of what Lottie was speaking. Violet herself had once given too much.

‘The man I loved promised he would come back,’ Lottie continued. ‘He did not. My father died shortly thereafter and I had no means of support. I tried as best I could to work in an opera house. Not the most esteemed of professions, I’m well aware, but then there are few options for women. I could not wed and found myself unable to support myself on the pittance of an opera dancer. I tried to resist the advances of men, but finally had to concede. For if I was to eat, I had to accept the new profession forced upon me.’

Violet ought to have been grateful for the candid story, for the words that would drip salacious details like the juices from tender cooked beef on to the column of the Lady Observer. Except Lottie’s confession knotted like a ball of ice in Violet’s stomach. How close had she herself been to such a fate as Lottie’s?

‘I’m so sorry.’ The words slipped from Violet’s mouth before she knew she meant to say them.

Lottie shook her head. ‘I’m not looking for sympathy by any means. I only told you for two purposes. First, I want you to understand why I became what I did. Second, I want you to know something deeply personal about me.’

The former courtesan took Violet’s hand in her delicate grip. ‘What we discuss in these lessons will require an unquestionable trust between us. It is unfair to expect you to share, yet know nothing of me in return.’ Her fingers squeezed against Violet’s. ‘Can you trust me?’

Guilt bit hard into Violet’s awareness and did not let go. Lottie was giving far more of herself than anticipated. Before Lottie could sense any hesitation on her part, Violet forced a nod. ‘You can trust me.’

And in that exact instant, Violet made the vow to never reveal Lottie’s own personal story in any part of the exposé for the Lady Observer. Such secrets were meant to be kept between women.

Lottie pulled Violet into a companionable embrace. ‘I’m delighted to hear it, my darling. Now, let us find you a husband. Is there a man you have your heart set upon?’

Lord Dalton’s image flashed in Violet’s mind and seared something deep in her chest. The way he’d bent over the hedge to touch her, his hand firmly set against Violet’s face, how his dark eyes had become pools of ink before he closed them in preparation for a kiss that never came.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ Lottie’s eyes sparkled. ‘We ladies don’t become that thoughtful over the idea of any man. We only do so at the idea of one man in particular.’ She tilted her head and her glossy curls shifted over her shoulder. ‘Am I wrong?’