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“I, for one, know someone who will be very happy if Viola doesn’t marry the duke,” Della said. “My brother, John. After your dance at Lady Pickering’s ball he was quite taken with you. He keeps asking me about you.”
He’d been very kind and handsome, but she’d felt nothing for him. She’d only had eyes for West.
“Do you think that the duke prefers Lady Winifred?” Isobel asked.
“Why would he want a milksop like her when he could have a firebrand like Viola?” Beatrice asked.
“You think I’m a firebrand?” Viola asked, taken aback.
“Absolutely. You stood up for me when I didn’t believe in myself,” Beatrice replied.
“You’ve always been there for us—a fierce advocate and loyal friend,” agreed Isobel.
“You deserve a starring role in your own life,”said Beatrice. “You’re so much stronger than you know. I wish you could see yourself the way we see you.”
“It takes great strength to constantly prop everyone else up,” Isobel agreed. “And now we want to repay the favor.” She caught Viola’s gaze and held it, standing up from her chair and squaring her shoulders. “Miss Viola Beaton, you should leave this book club meeting and march right over to that musical publisher, reveal yourself as Mr. Vincent Beam, and claim compensation for your work.”
Viola took a deep breath, ready to mount her objections, but before she could speak, Beatrice rose from the table and stood shoulder to shoulder with Isobel. “And I believe that after you reveal your true identity to the world, you should reveal your true feelings to the duke. No matter the outcome.”
She stared at her friends. “Do you really think I’m that brave?”
They nodded. “We do.”
“I think you’re the most brave, bold, and intrepid woman in this room,” said Philippa, joining Isobel and Beatrice.
“And I agree,” said Della, standing up. “Even though my brother John will be crushed, I think you would make a first-rate duchess, and damn anyone who has the gall to say otherwise!”
“You’ve all gone mad,” Viola said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Her friends surged toward her and Della grabbed her hands and pulled her out of thechair. “You can do this, Viola,” she said. “We believe in you.”
Could she do this? Once she revealed her identity as Mr. Beam there’d be no going back.
West had told her to reveal herself. Her best friends were united in their belief that it was the right thing to do.
The breath she drew was shaky, and a little tentative, but it filled her lungs with fresh life, fresh resolve.
“Do you know what?” She lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “I believe you’re right. At least about Mr. Beam—I’m going to march over to that publishing house and claim my prize!”
“That’s my girl!”
“You’ll show them!”
The encouragement of her friends rang in her ears as she left the club.
When she reached the publishing house of Atwater and Herrick she very nearly lost her nerve. The building looked dark inside. No one was there.
This had been a bad idea, anyway. She’d knock upon the door but if no one answered she’d leave immediately.
She lifted her hand to the door knocker and the door opened.
“Good evening, miss. I was just leaving but I’d be happy to answer your inquiry,” said Mr. Atwater, the white-haired gentleman she’d spoken with at the musicale. “Wait . . .” He peered at her through round spectacles. “Miss Beaton? I’m soglad you decided to come. Do come in, my dear. Mr. Herrick,” he called. “I say, Mr. Herrick, Miss Beaton has come!”
Another white-haired and bespectacled gentleman bustled out from some inner office. “Miss Beaton. What an honor.” He pumped her hand up and down. “Do sit down, please.” He swept a pile of papers from a chair and gestured for her to take a seat.
Viola’s heart was beating so violently she thought they must be able to hear it.
Mr. Atwater beamed at her. “Now, will you reveal the mystery of Mr. Vincent Beam?”
