When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) Read Online Free PDF

rosettes and tiny white feathers for leaves. She had discovered it one day whilst accompanying Charlotte to a shabby Oxford Street pawnshop. The bonnet had been covered in dust, but her eye had been drawn as though the item glimmered diamond-bright. Charlotte had scoffed at Viola’s impulsive purchase—until it was cleaned and restored to its present glorious state.
    Viola continued, “The Inkling helped my father choose our town house, which has since become one of the most fashionable addresses in Mayfair.”
    “Coincidence.”
    “And, let us not forget, this instinct at which you scoff insisted that I befriend you.”
    “That was not the Inkling. That was my perpetual clumsiness meeting your generous nature. We get on splendidly, you and I.”
    Their friendship had begun the previous season when Charlotte’s elbow collided with Viola’s ear during a quadrille. Charlotte had muttered a flushed apology. Viola had laughed and linked arms with the tall redhead, spinning them both around in the center of the floor merrily, causing everyone around them to cheer and laugh along. Charlotte’s flush had faded, her grin had grown, and they had charmed each other silly. It was one of Viola’s favorite memories.
    “Of course we get on, Charlotte.” Vexing. That was the word for Charlotte’s persistent skepticism. Vexing. Viola smiled wide to disguise her irritation and enunciated clearly so as to be understood. “Since I was a child, whenever I have followed the Inkling, it has rewarded me immeasurably. Whenever I have ignored it, I have languished in regret. These are facts.”
    Charlotte gave her a considering glance before softening. “I am sorry, Vi. Insulting you was not my intention.”
    Viola waved away her apology and laughed away the sting. “Think no more of it. Do you suppose I should purchase a new ball gown? If Penelope is to be believed, Lady Gattingford’s fete will be larger than ever this year.”
    Charlotte glanced toward the curtained area at the back of the shop. “Mrs. Bowman would certainly approve.”
    Viola sighed. “Alas, Papa would not. He insists my current assortment of gowns is sufficient.”
    Lowering her voice to a whisper, Charlotte leaned in close. “Even with the discount I negotiated for you?”
    Nodding, Viola gave her a small smile.
    “Perhaps if Mrs. Bowman created something for me, and purely by chance, we found it was fitted much too short—”
    Viola covered her friend’s hand and squeezed. “Whatever we Darlings lack in wealth is more than compensated by our pride, dearest.”
    A dark-haired, elegant woman swept aside the blue curtain with a dramatic wave of her arm and glided toward them, trailing behind her a string of mixed English and Italian commands intended for her two young assistants, who scurried meekly in the modiste’s wake. “Ah, Miss Darling,” Mrs. Bowman cried in her musically accented version of the English language. “You require another ball dress, no?”
    Viola beamed a broad smile at the Italian woman—one of the most gifted mantua-makers in the city—and met her halfway across the floor of the shop to squeeze her hands fondly. “I would purchase one of your splendid confections every day of the season if my father would permit it, Mrs. Bowman. Your talent is unmatched.”
    Her reply was a sniff and a lift of her lips. “This is true.” The woman turned to snap at her assistants, “The new fashion plates for ball gowns. Fetch them for Miss Darling.”
    Tilting her head in regret, Viola protested quietly, “Alas, Papa insists I must practice restraint, though it pains me greatly. The indigo silk your husband displayed last week has me dreaming in magnificent shades of blue.”
    Renata Bowman’s English husband was a textile merchant who occasionally featured offerings in Bowman’s shop. It was another reason Viola and her friends frequented the place—it spared them a stop at the draper’s. Similarly, the milliner several doors down