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The Duke of Scandal
The Rakish Duke and his Wallflower
If you enjoyedTempting the Scarred Duke, keep reading for an exciting preview of my previous novel!
Chapter 1
London, England
“Your gentleman caller does not come around anymore, does he?”
Violet’s hand that held the pencil froze and hovered over the sketchbook. She had not wanted to listen to the conversation, as frustrated with her cousin’s interference as her sister was, but now, she had no choice. Dropping the sketchbook firmly into her lap, she sat straight and pushed the loose curls of blonde hair that had fallen out of her chignon back from her face.
Across the room, she could see who had spoken. Her cousin, Louise, was practically crowing in victory as she walked up and down the room.
“Mama was right. No good comes from encouraging the attentions of a man like Sir Percy Babington, does it?” Louise practically giggled with the words.
“I…” Penelope trailed off.
Violet’s eyes shot to her sister to see Penelope was sitting forward in her chair, barely paying attention to the embroidery in her lap.
“No, he does not come around anymore,” Penelope said miserably and stabbed the embroidered cloth with the needle another time.
“We knew he was no good. It shows a poor judgment of character, that is what my Mama says,” Louise crowed another time as she walked in front of Penelope.
I have had enough of this.
Violet stood to her feet and dropped her notebook so loudly on the table beside her that both Louise and Penelope flinched. Penelope’s fair curls turned in Violet’s direction and Louise spun around, her red hair whipping with the movement.
“We hear the opinions of your mother from her own lips, Louise. Do you have an opinion of your own to share?” Her tartness earned a warning glare from Penelope behind Louise’s back, clearly telling her to be quiet, but Violet did not listen. She strode across the room instead, meeting Louise’s gaze.
Violet may have been significantly shorter than Louise, but she would never cower to her cousin’s pride.
Louise’s lips opened and closed, but no words passed them. Clearly, she had not expected such words to escape Violet.
“No? Well, perhaps we should leave my sister to her embroidery. She is content here in peace, and that peace and quiet is rather being disturbed at present. If you wouldn’t mind.” Violet spoke with a sweet and kindly tone, even if the words were to the point.
Louise was wrongfooted. She narrowed her brown eyes, clearly wishing to be tart too, but apparently, words failed her. She hurried from the room instead, and Violet followed, being careful to close the door behind her. Once Louise was gone, Violet turned back into the parlor and sighed, leaning on the door.
“Oh, good lord! Save me from our cousin’s proud ways,” she gushed, rather relieved when she brought a smile to her sister’s lips.
“You think we would be used to it by now after how long we have been here,” Penelope murmured, looking down at her embroidery once again.
“Used to it? No, indeed. Our cousin is as changeable as the English weather. Sometimes she is kind, other times, like the clouds, she is so ill-tempered that she marches around the house, practically making the floorboards shake beneath her feet.”
“Do not let her hear you say that!” Penelope shook her head madly.
“She can hear it. I do not mind.” Violet crossed the room and sat down by her sister’s side, flopping into the chair. She had hoped her jest would bring another smile to her sister’s lips, but it didn’t on this occasion. “Penelope, are you well, dearest?”
“Of course,” Penelope lied.
“You know I can tell easily by now when you are fibbing to me, do you not?” Violet leaned toward her and whispered conspiratorially, as if it were the greatest secret ever told. “You are my sister, Penelope. I can read you like a book.”
“Do not tease me, Violet.”
“I am not teasing. I am trying to make you smile, though I admit I am failing in my task at present.” Violet sat back again. “You have a habit of flattening your lips together when you lie.” Penelope purposefully lifted her head and smiled as if to dispel the illusion of a lie. “It is a good attempt, but you still lied. Would you tell me what is wrong, sister?”
She half-expected Penelope to start speaking at length of Sir Babington, the gentleman caller who had spent months trying to earn Penelope’s attention, and when he had it, had frittered off very quickly. Like a bumble bee that persists with one flower, Violet thought Sir Babington just the same. He had waited until Penelope had turned her head toward him, then he had flown away.
