“It’s our occasional neighbor,” her mother said. “The viscount.”
Violet’s attention strayed from her book. “How do you know?”
“I recognize his carriage. A hand-me-down from his brother, the marquess.”
“How is it you know everyone’s business?” Violet wondered aloud.
“It’s not so very difficult, my dear. One need only take an interest, open her eyes and ears, and use her head. I believe the viscount is in tight straits. Not only because of the second-hand carriage, but heavens, the state of his gardens. Your father nearly chokes every time we ride past.”
“I’m surprised Father hasn’t made his way over to set the garden to rights,” Lily said.
“Don’t think he hasn’t considered it.” Mum leaned her palms on the windowsill, studying the passing coach. “Why, I do believe Lord Lakefield isn’t alone.”
Despite herself, Violet rose, one finger holding her place in the book. “And how do you know that?”
“The vehicle’s curtains aren’t drawn.” Mum gave a happy gasp of discovery. “There’s a child inside! And a woman!”
Idle curiosity brought Violet out of her chair—Francis Bacon could wait a moment, after all. She wandered toward the window to look out. But of course the carriage was only a blur.
Everything more than a few feet from Violet’s eyes always looked like a blur. It was one reason she preferred staying at home with her books and news sheets, rather than going about to socialize with her mother and two younger sisters. She was afraid she’d embarrass herself by failing to recognize a friend across the room. Or by tripping. Which she did. Frequently.
“Well, well, well,” Mum said. “I must go bring the lady a gift of perfume and welcome her to the neighborhood.”
“You mean find out who she is,” Violet said.
Her mother’s second hobby was delivering perfume and receiving gossip in exchange. Not that anyone begrudged her the information. To the contrary, Chrystabel Ashcroft never needed to pry a word out of anyone. Warm and well-loved, she barely walked in the door before women began spilling their secrets.
On the rare occasions her mother had succeeded in dragging her along, Violet had seen it happen, her bad eyes notwithstanding.
“I wonder if the viscount has married?” Rose asked.
“I expect not,” Mum said. “He’s much too intellectual for anyone I know.” As the carriage disappeared into the distance, she turned from the window. “Why, he’s a member of that Royal Society, isn’t he?”
“I believe so.” Violet watched her mother wander back to the table, wishing she’d never mentioned wanting to attend a Royal Society lecture. The last thing she needed was Mum plotting her marriage. “Perhaps he would suit Rose or Lily.”
“I think not.” Mum sniffed the perfume in progress, then chose another vial. “I cannot imagine whom he would suit, but certainly not your sisters.”
“It’s just as well,” Rose said, “since you’re forbidden from matching us.”
“You know the rules, Mum,” Lily added.
The three sisters had a pact to save one another from their mother’s matchmaking schemes. It was one thing—perhaps the only thing—they all agreed on.
“Heavens, girls. It’s not as though I arrange marriages behind my friends’ backs.” Everyone Mum knew was her friend. Literally. And they all adored her. “All of my brides and grooms are willing—”
“Victims?” Violet broke in to supply.
“Participants,” Mum countered.
Lily sat and retrieved her handiwork. “How many weddings have you arranged this year, Mum? Three? Four?”
“Five,” their mother said with not a little pride. She tapped her fingernails on the vial. “Only seven months in, and a banner year already.”
The sisters exchanged a look. “And all five of these couples,” Violet ventured, “were fully cognizant and enthusiastic participants in your plans?”
Mum cocked her head. “I’m not sure what cognizant means. But enthusiastic, yes, all of them. And now blissfully happy, I might add.”
Rose plopped back onto her own chair. “Bliss or no, you’re not matching me up, Mum. I can find my own husband.”
“Me, too,” Lily said.
“Me three,” Violet added.
“Of course you all can.” Mum’s graceful fingers stilled. “I wouldn’t dream of meddling in my own daughters’ lives.”
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buy the boxed set to read all three daughters’ stories!
LAUREN & DEVON’S NEXT SERIES STARTS WITH…
Alexandra
Regency Chase Brides
Book One
Alexandra Chase has always liked being the perfect daughter, thank you very much. Why would she bother chafing against society’s restrictions when instead she could be basking in the warm glow of its approval? But when her brother’s best friend—and secret obsession—returns from a long spell abroad, she begins losing interest in the suitable young lord she’s expected to marry. Suddenly, family duty and a flawless reputation seem less important than the chance, however slight, that her girlhood crush might notice her now that she’s all grown up…
Tristan Nesbitt has done some growing up himself over the last few years, what with moving across oceans, inheriting a title, and facing a devastating scandal. But through it all, he’s never forgotten the Chases, the closest thing he had to a family back in his school days. When his old friend Griffin Chase requests a favor, he’s happy to oblige, as long as he can maintain enough distance from the family that his infamous past won’t tarnish their good name. Unfortunately, one Chase seems intent on getting much closer to him than she should…
Read an excerpt…
Cainewood Castle, the South of England
Summer 1812
IT WAS ALMOST like touching him.
Lady Alexandra Chase usually sketched a profile in just a few minutes, but she took her time today, lingering over her work in the darkened room. Standing on one side of a large, framed pane of glass while Tristan sat sideways on the other, she traced his shadow cast by the glow of a candle. Her pencil followed his strong chin, his long, straight nose, the wide slope of his forehead, capturing his image on the sheet of paper she’d tacked to her side
