Page 1 of Eight for Losing, One for Loving

Chapter 1

Leo

I’m getting married. To a vicar’s daughter, if you can believe that. I am undoubtedly a lucky dog, and so you shall see if you can bestir yourself all the way to such a heathenish place as Scotland.

I shan’t expect to see you but figured you might like to know you’re invited.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Hon’ble Hamilton Anderson (son of The right Hon’ble Gordon and Ruth Anderson, The Earl and Countess of Morven) to Mr Leo Hunt (son of Mr Nathanial and Mrs Alice Hunt).

21st June 1850, Albany, Piccadilly, London.

Violetta stared out of the parlour window that faced onto the street and scanned the road in both directions. So far, so good. The embroidery in her lap lay untouched. Her adopted mama, Lady Trevick, had gone to see Lord Trevick off on a visit to his club, so there was no need for pretending she was doing anything but keeping a lookout. She only hoped her mama had since gone upstairs for a little nap to gather her energy for the ball tonight. Not that Mama seemed ever to have anything less than boundless energy. Unlike Vi. Of late, she’d felt lethargic and out of spirits and Leo blasted Hunt was not helping matters.

She gave an anxious look up and down the street, tentatively hoping that he would not come today. He’d come three times every week for the last three months, however, and today was Friday, so…

Vi started as she glimpsed sunlight glinting on hair the colour of ripe barley. Heads turned as the fashionable tilbury drawn by a beautiful grey horse trotted smartly past. Two young ladies on the pavement almost walked headlong into a lamppost as they stared. She couldn’t blame them. God—or more likely the devil—had excelled himself when he created Leo Hunt. Blond and blue-eyed, he had the looks of angel combined with the body of an athlete, and a smile that could make females from toddlers to aged dowagers giggle like complete ninnies.

Giving an exclamation of frustration, Vi shot to her feet, letting her embroidery fall to the floor and disregarding it as she hurried out of the room.

“Button!” she shouted, startling their poor butler so thoroughly he almost leap from his skin.

“Miss Spencer?” he said, gazing at her as though he expected an announcement of a flood or a plague of locusts at the very least. A smart rap on the front door had him looking away from her and Vi cried out desperately.

“Don’t answer it!” she said, though she knew at once that was entirely ridiculous. The knocker was up, and everyone knew they were in town. “That is to say… I am not at home,” she added, putting up her chin and trying belatedly for dignity.

The butler sighed. “Mr Hunt is a… a rather forceful young man, Miss Spencer,” he said hesitantly.

“He is a thorn in my side, Button, a stone in my shoe. I. Am. Not. At. Home.”

“Very good, miss,” Button said gloomily, squaring his shoulders as he headed for the door.

Vi scurried back to the parlour and closed the door, and then opened it an inch and peered out, knowing she had completely lost her mind. This, then, was what the dreadful man had reduced her to.

She could not see the door from here, but she could eavesdrop on the conversation at least.

“Good afternoon, Button, how do?” Leo’s cheerfully irreverent voice reached her, making her idiotic heart give a little leap in her chest. “You’re looking fine as fivepence, old man. New cravat?”

“No, Mr Hunt.”

“You’ve cut your hair, then?”

“No, Mr Hunt.”

There was the sound of fingers snapping. “I’ve got it, you’ve found a new recipe for shoe polish. I can see my face in those. Must give me the recipe.”

“Certainly, Mr Hunt. I’m afraid Miss Spencer is—”

“Well, don’t keep me on the doorstep, Button. Vi’s expecting me. Is she ready?”

“No, Mr Hunt, I was just about to explain that Miss—”

“Don’t worry about showing me in, I know the way.”

Vi gave a squeak of alarm and leapt away from the door, hurrying to stand by the fireplace and trying her best to adopt her best ice maiden demeanour.

“But Mr Hunt, Miss Spencer is not at home today,” Button said frantically, just as Leo pushed the door open. Leo grinned at Vi and then turned to the beleaguered Button. “Sorry to contradict you, old man, but she’s right there. Plain as a pikestaff, I should say, though a good deal prettier.”

“Miss Spencer,” Button exclaimed in despair.