The Countess Conspiracy

Filthy, that woman behind her had whispered. Filthy reprobate.

In theory, Mama didn’t know any of that. In practice, Violet was never stupid enough to wager against her mother. Clearly, she needed to have a talk with the woman.

Lily was shaking her head, oblivious to Violet’s thoughts. “That’s what I thought. There’s no scandal at all. Not unless you’re hiding something juicy.”

There are six things every lady must lie about.

Violet smiled at her sister, as warmly as she was able. “Goodness,” she heard herself say, her words starched and pressed to unbending crispness. “When have I ever been able to hide anything from you?”

“Well,” Lily said slyly. “There is Mr. Malheur.”

Violet blinked at her sister, afraid to say anything.

“His reputation?” Lily said, nudging her playfully with an elbow. “With women? You are aware of that? Never say you’ve finally succumbed.”

“Oh.” Violet inhaled. “That. Lily, you know we’re only old friends from childhood.”

We’re not even that anymore.

Lily smiled and set her hand on Violet’s wrist. “I’m teasing you, dear. Of course I know you’d never involve yourself with him in that way.” She winked at Violet. “He’s so awful—with those dreadful lectures he gives? If you ever were so selfish as to surrender to his wicked wiles, I’d have to give you the cut direct.” She laughed.

Violet looked at her sister—listened to a laugh that was not quite merry enough, just a little ugly at the edges—and understood that Lily wasn’t joking. That had been a warning, not a tease. She swallowed hard.

This was why Lily never understood Mama. Mama knew what it was like to carry a scandal in her heart, to know that the truth would cause you to be cast out forever. Lily had never understood that.

“You’ll talk to Mama, then,” Lily was saying. “Convince her to stop filling Amanda’s head with such nonsense. She never listens to me, but you…”

“That’s because I understand her,” Violet remarked.

“Yes,” Lily said offhandedly, “you’re difficult like she is. Prickly, hard to understand.” She tossed this off as if it were a simple fact, one that everyone agreed on. “And could you talk to Amanda? She has something on her mind, something ridiculous. She listens to you.”

“More fool her,” Violet muttered.

Lily huffed and patted Violet on the shoulder. “Please, Violet. You’re my only hope.”

“Hmph.” Violet sniffed politely.

But Lily knew her too well. It was nice to be needed—if only for this tiny thing.

“I’ll talk to them both,” Violet said.

And if those tasks didn’t take her mind off the words Sebastian had spoken, the ones that cycled through her mind at the most inopportune moments—I have standards. You don’t meet them—nothing would.

Chapter Four

“SO TELL ME ABOUT THIS SUITOR you do not wish to marry,” Violet said.

It was half an hour after she’d wished her sister farewell. The park was hot and her wide-brimmed hat scarcely shielded her face from the sun. Still, there was nowhere else to talk without interruption. Amanda had seven brothers and three sisters; privacy was in short supply at her home.

Her niece flushed. “I never said I didn’t wish to—”

“Good God,” Violet said. “If we have to talk around this thing, we’ll never get anywhere. Ignore Grandmama’s advice for once. Lean in and whisper.”

Amanda leaned in. But her nose wrinkled. She glanced at Violet and then straightened and looked away.

“Oh, come on,” Violet said. “I’ll help you start. It goes like this: ‘I don’t love him.’”

“It’s worse than that.”

“You’re in love with the stable boy.”

Amanda smiled in spite of herself. “No. He’s twelve.”

“Well, then. It can’t be that awful. You are not in love with a child in your family’s employ. So tell me.”

Her niece grimaced. “I was visiting my friend Sarah. She married two months ago, you know? She told me what happens when women marry.”

“Oh?” Violet’s spirits sank. It was one thing to do Lily a favor. But she refused—absolutely refused—to have the “penises are not that bad, and in fact, many women come to like them” talk with her in Hyde Park, of all places.

“As far as I can tell,” Amanda continued, “you plan menus, look over the servants, and go on visits.” She huffed. “That’s the entirety of your life, once you marry.”

Oh, thank God. It wasn’t the penis talk.

“It sounds boring,” Amanda moaned, and then looked over at Violet. “Not—not that you are boring. Or my mother. Just—”

Violet tapped her fingers together. “There are charitable organizations. You might volunteer.”

Amanda blew out a breath. “Charity is well and good, but the organizations for genteel ladies seem particularly useless. It makes no sense to spend four hours a day meeting other women so you might knit stockings for the deserving poor, especially as you must pay three shillings to the association for tea while you do that.” Her lip curled. “If we took those shillings and used them to employ women to do piecework, we could both provide employment to the deserving poor and produce better stockings than our haphazard efforts.”

Violet glanced at her niece. “I see why your mother fobbed you off on me,” she commented dryly. “You’re being logical.”

Also, Lily seemed to be under the illusion that Violet favored the institution of marriage. It wasn’t so bad for people like her sister. But it had been Lily’s fault that Violet had married so well. Violet—plain, uninteresting Violet—would never have had any attention at all, were it not for her sister’s amazing fertility. In the mind of an aging earl, Violet’s presumed fecundity had trumped everything else.

“It’s a colossal waste of my time,” Amanda said. “The entire institution of marriage sounds like a waste of time. Why does a woman agree to that?”

“Because she hasn’t a better idea what to do with herself?” Violet said dryly. “That’s why most people marry.”

“That’s an absolutely aggravating reason.”

“It’s an aggravating system. Get used to it.”