The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

favorite confectionary.
    “Lud, Violet, how can you eat like that and never gain an ounce?” Marianne said. A stunning silver blonde, Ambrose’s wife patted a hand over her own willowy form, impeccably displayed in a promenade dress of dove grey silk. “I daresay I would resemble one of those hot-air balloons they launch at Vauxhall if I had your appetite.”
    “I’m hungry,” Violet said around a mouthful of marzipan-covered sponge.
    “You’re always hungry.” Perched next to Marianne on the settee, Em shook her head, her brunette curls gleaming. “When it comes to food, your stomach brings to mind the Pit of Tartarus from Greek lore.”
    Vi had never been good at the classics. “What’s the Pit of Tartarus?”
    “A bottomless abyss,” Marianne said dryly, and everyone laughed.
    Violet gave a good-natured shrug. One couldn’t take offense when something was true. Polishing off a buttery lemon tart, she said, “If they had these in Tartarus, I’d jump right in. You really ought to try one.”
    “Mama and I are off to Madame Rousseau’s for a fitting afterward, so I shan’t risk it,” said Primrose, Marianne’s eighteen-year-old daughter. “With the descending waistlines this Season, gowns aren’t nearly as forgiving, and no amount of tight lacing will erase a plate of cakes.”
    Rosie, as the girl was affectionately known, had inherited not only her mother’s fair beauty but also the other’s wit and self-confidence. Since Marianne’s marriage to Ambrose a decade earlier, the Kents had considered Rosie one of their own. She’d formed a particular connection with Polly, who was the same age. The two girls presently shared a chaise, their arms linked and pale muslin skirts overlapping like petals of a single flower.
    “You always look beautiful, Rosie,” Polly said with quiet sincerity.
    Rosie’s jade-colored eyes danced. “You’re a dear for saying that, but I’d rather not be squeezed like a sausage into a corset if I can help it.”
    “I’ll have a cake.” The pink ruffles on Gabriella Billings’ bodice fluttered as she shrugged. “Since I’m a sausage anyway, I have nothing to lose.”
    “That’s not true, Gabby. You’re lovely,” Emma protested.
    “I have freckles and hair the color of carrots…”
    Violet was distracted by the arrival of Tabitha, Em’s grey striped cat. Ever since an unfortunate slingshot incident, Vi had been trying to get back into the feline’s good graces. She held out a bit of cake as a peace offering; Tabby turned her nose up at it and curled up next to Em.
    “… what harm is a piece of cake going to do?” Gabby finished.
    Hearing the word “cake,” Vi obligingly passed the silver tray of confections to her friend.
    “Violet.” Emma gave her a chiding glance.
    “What?”
    “Cake isn’t the point.”
    To Vi, cake was always the point. With the tray held out, she said, puzzled, “It isn’t?”
    “Gabby is concerned about her looks,” Em said pointedly.
    “Oh.” Vi looked at Gabby. With her ginger curls and bright blue eyes, the other girl looked like a friendly wood sprite. She was one of the few truly nice girls Vi had met in London, and that gave her undisputable appeal in Vi’s book. “Why? You’re pretty.”
    “You’re ever so kind.” Gabby’s smile was tremulous. Using the silver tongs, she selected a slice of black currant cake (an excellent choice—Vi could vouch from experience). “I’m sorry to carry on like this. I think my nerves are frazzled because I’ll be hosting my first house party in just a week.” She ate a forkful of cake, mumbling, “I hope I do it correctly.”
    “Generosity and kindness are the marks of any successful hostess. And you, my dear Gabby,” Marianne said, “have both in spades. You have nothing to worry about.”
    “I wish that were true. Father has spared no expense for the fete. He purchased a whole new wardrobe for me and jewels to match.”
    “I read about your jewels in the papers;