Never Fool a Duke by Claudia Stone

Author:Claudia Stone
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3
Published: 2020-05-24T23:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Violet awoke with a thumping headache and a heavy feeling of doom. What on earth had she been thinking, she wondered, as she bathed and dressed, before heading downstairs for a much-needed cup of chocolate.

Aunt Phoebe was at the breakfast table, drinking a fragrant tea and perusing the morning's papers when Violet entered.

"La! You look like Prinny after one of his parties at Carton House," Phoebe commented as Violet took a seat, "What on earth has you looking so ill, my dear?"

"I did not sleep much, Aunt," Violet replied, as she reached for a piece of dry toast.

"Try not to stay up painting so late," Phoebe sighed in return before she stood from the table to begin her day, "It plays havoc on the complexion, and in your case, it seems to have brought on a beard."

Aunt Phoebe reached out to stroke Violet's cheek, with a mischievous glint in her eye, before she left the room bellowing for Dorothy. Nervously, Violet reached up to feel her face and found a small piece of her fake beard still stuck in place.

She hastily yanked it off, wincing slightly as the spirit-gum took a little of her skin with it.

She would have to be more careful, she thought, as she concealed the hair-piece in the pockets of her skirts. Her predicament was already troubling enough; she did not need to add to it by appearing at breakfast like a lost animal from Polito's Menagerie.

Nor did she need to add to her troubles by dragging other people into her lies, she thought with a pang of guilt, as she recalled Lady Olivia's smile to "Sebastian".

Determined to outrun her troubles, or at least to stop thinking of them for a while, Violet finished her breakfast and ran to find Henry to ask him to prepare for their trip.

Saville House was located in the bustling hub of Leicester Square, and Henry was forced to circle for quite some time until he found a spot where he might park the carriage. Violet, who was bursting to finally see Miss Linwood's exhibition, sprang from the carriage as soon as it stopped.

"I shan't be more than an hour, Henry," she called over her shoulder, as she raced to the steps of Saville House.

Inside, away from the hustle and bustle of London, Violet found a quiet and calm entrance hall, where a fusty gentleman checked her name against his list before he permit her to enter.

Violet hesitated slightly, before the heavy, mahogany door, which led to the gallery. She had waited for so long to see Miss Linwood's famed works that she was almost afraid to enter. When she finally pushed the door open, she found a long gallery filled with light. High windows ran the length of the room, bathing everything in soft, spring sunshine, and allowing the viewer to truly appreciate the displayed artworks.

Each piece was stitched, not painted, and Miss Linwood's talent was so great that it was rumoured the Tsar of Russia had once tried to purchase one of her works.

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