Body and Soul, page 1
part #3 of Scarlet Plumiere Series
BODY AND SOUL
The Scarlet Plumiere Series (Book 3)
By L.L. Muir
PUBLISHED BY
Lesli Muir Lytle
www.llmuir.weebly.com
Body and Soul © 2016 L.Lytle
All rights reserved
Amazon KDP Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my beloved Viscount F…
for always believing
that one day—
surely, one day—
I would tell your story.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Excerpt from BREATH OF LAUGHTER
MORE BOOKS by L.L. Muir
About the Author
BODY AND SOUL
CHAPTER ONE
“I would very much like to murder your wife.” Stanley Winters—Viscount Forsgreen and heir to the Duke of Rochester—bowed to his friend manning the receiving line at the first rout he’d attended since returning to London.
“Your Grace. Good of you to come.” Northwick bowed in return. “I would prefer you did not. Rather fond of her, you know.”
Stan took a step to the side, lifted Livvy’s hand, and kissed it. “Lady Northwick,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Your Grace.” She grinned. “If you must murder me, would you mind waiting until tomorrow? This is my first ball as hostess, and I would hate to bleed on my guests.”
Stan turned back to North. “You noticed. She denied nothing.”
North laughed. “Livvy is not the only one who knows how to place notices in The Capital Journal. Anyone could have announced you were in the market...” North looked quickly about him, then leaned forward. “…to be in the market.”
Stan glared at the still-grinning love of North’s life. “There is where you are wrong. No one else was aware.” He growled quietly, so only she could hear.
Livvy reacted with a bark of laughter and covered her mouth with gloved fingers. “Stanley, please. It was simple retribution for not locking Ashmoore in stocks until we could get to Scotland. Surely you knew how North would feel for missing the wedding.” She began giggling. “I had no idea you would become a prisoner in your own home.”
Her laughing got the best of her and she was forced to bury her face against Northwick’s chest to keep from drawing more attention. No doubt the entire population of London in full Season had heard of him having to don a disguise to escape his own home. A certain Lady Abernathy had set no less than three men to the task of stalking an eligible future duke’s every move in order to drop her daughter in his path at each turn. The fact that it had taken a woman’s disguise to fool the stalkers was a detail he had hoped to keep to himself. Considering Livvy’s hysterics, it seemed that detail was a secret no more, even though it had not been included in the Journal gossip.
“North. As soon as you are free, I would like to discuss funeral arrangements with you in your father’s study.” He raised a brow at Livvy lest she misunderstand his meaning.
Surprisingly, she made a concerted effort to calm herself. She even managed to stop smiling.
“Of course,” North replied. “May I ask whose funeral?”
“Let us call her Lady N.” He gave her a haughty nod, then stepped away. The crier, standing before the open doors to the ballroom, offered a low bow. Stanley narrowed his eyes. “If you announce me, sir, I will cut out your tongue.”
The man started to rise, but instead, bit his lips together and bowed again.
Livvy’s laughter followed him up the stairs, along with a hundred eyes, he was certain. Once inside the study, he stomped to the wall on the right, took off his gloves, and pulled the edge of Old Northwick’s portrait. The frame opened on a hinge, as did a section of wall behind it. On the next layer before him were two knobs attached to small squares of canvas. He removed the square nearest him and peered out over the ballroom through a screen. From the ballroom, one might notice a shadow of movement within the painting hanging there, but only if one knew what to look for.
Old Northwick had installed the device in order to both enjoy his wife’s soirees without the need to mingle with others, and to keep a close eye on his wife’s dancing partners. There was also a bell-pull within reach that caused a small bell to ring beneath the musician’s mezzanine, so he could send his wife a signal if needed.
When they were young, The Four Kings—North, Ashmoore, Harcourt, and himself—had been allowed to spy through the painting when important guests were in attendance. But tonight, the highest-ranking guest at the party was going to do the spying. Stan had no intention of stepping a foot outside the study until he was absolutely certain Lady Abernathy and her daughters were not lying in wait for him. And if Livvy’s reputation as a hostess was damaged by his absence, then it served her rightly.
All’s fair in love and war. Especially if theirs was a war about love.
The night he’d come to recount to North the happenings in Scotland, he’d tried to explain to his friend how desperately alone he felt now that two of The Four Kings had found the perfect women for themselves. He hadn’t taken into account that Livvy—the woman perched on the arm of North’s chair during that conversation—had once been the most notorious gossip in London. And now he was paying for that oversight.
The study door burst open and Stan started. It was only North, but merely standing next to the spy holes made him feel as if he were doing something he oughtn’t. But typically, when he was doing something he oughtn’t, he had more than just Ramsey Birmingham, Earl of Northwick, beside him. Missing were Presley Talbot, Marquess of Harcourt, and Earnest Meriwether, Earl of Ashmoore.
“We have a plan,” North announced and hurried to stand beside him.
“We?” he scoffed. “You mean yourself and that woman—”
“That woman I love, yes. We have a plan. Livvy is going to walk about the ballroom and strike up conversations with ladies to whom you might like to be introduced. If you like the look of the woman, you pull the bell. Gently. She’ll be listening for it.”
Stanley gave a gusty sigh. “It sounds rather like an animal auction.”
North laughed quietly. “Of course it does. And just think of how the animals feel.” He nodded toward the spy holes.
“If I am not interested in an introduction?”
“Then do not ring the bell. Look here, old sock. I will do my best to make a note of their names, but for the most part, we’ll be relying on Livvy’s memory, so we shan’t choose too many.”
Stan refrained from sharing his doubts about finding even one woman among the guests who might raise his interest. He wasn’t searching for a woman to wear on his sleeve to balls and the like. He wanted to find someone like Livvy or Ash’s wife, Blair. And neither of them had been twirling around on ballroom floors when they were found.
It was possible the woman he was longing for was not even in London. Of course, he wished to find someone suitable. He was a d
uke’s heir after all. But he refused to spend the rest of his days wishing his wife were more…interesting.
He’d finally struck upon a word for it, but he would keep it to himself for the time being. He certainly didn’t care to read about it in the paper the next morning.
North moved close to the wall and revealed the other spying hole. When they were younger, they’d needed to stand upon chairs to reach them. Now they jockeyed their shoulders in order to fit in the space.
“There she is.” North pointed to the right. “She is waving.”
Livvy wasn’t exactly waving, but she was drumming her fingers on her lips. After a moment of perusing the crowd and side-stepping an older gentleman who appeared interested in speaking with her, she finally settled next to a girl dressed in white, glittering from the crown of her head to the hem of her gown.
“A shining package,” Stan half-whispered. “Perhaps to draw one’s attention away from what lies inside.”
North reached for the bell-pull.
“Not on your life.” Stan huffed.
North laughed. “Livvy is jesting.” His wife moved along, her fingers drumming against her lips and barely concealing a smile as she searched again. North was enraptured with every move the woman made. After a moment, Stan wondered if his friend had forgotten the game.
While Livvy wandered through the crowd, Stan allowed his eyes to do a bit of searching of their own and his gaze was drawn to a woman in pink who was also moving through the guests but with much more focus and a bit more speed. Through the screen, it was difficult to see her features, but the way others watched her as she passed, he predicted she was a beauty. Of course, her image was of little interest, but what did hold his attention was the seemingly lazy circuit she made around the perimeter of the room while, in truth, she made impressive progress. It was like watching a butterfly flit about a flowering bush—every movement seemed random until one realized the pretty thing had managed to successfully visit each blossom exactly once.
What was equally interesting was the bee-like creature following that butterfly around the room.
A dapper, intent gentleman, with dark hair and a substantial widow’s peak, remained a good ten steps behind the woman, whether by design or the fact he failed to keep pace, Stan could not say. But the man noted each person with whom the butterfly came in contact, as if he were keeping track.
“Surely this one,” North murmured.
Stan tore his attention away from the imaginary garden and scanned the mob for Livvy’s blue dress.
There. Livvy was laughing with a lovely, tall woman with dark hair, dressed in green.
Stan tugged the bell-pull so he could go back to watching the bee and butterfly.
North slapped him on the back, jarring his focus. “There is the spirit. See how pleased you have made her.”
Stan realized his friend was referring to Livvy and found the blue gown again. She was practically bouncing on her toes and no longer made any effort to hide her smile.
A pink cloud moved next to the blue.
The butterfly!
He easily found the bee—slowing, pausing, looking on.
Stan grabbed the bell pull, tugged enthusiastically, and heard an answering clang.
“Easy, now.” North took the ribbon from his hand. “We shouldn’t draw attention to the bell. Besides, you do not want this introduction.”
Stan moved his face closer to the screen, wondering if he’d been wrong about the reason others turned in the butterfly’s direction as she passed. If she was homely, it mattered little to him. He was merely curious about her and her bee. If he were introduced to her, he could work out the mystery.
Livvy conversed with the butterfly, but each time the woman in pink spoke, Livvy’s head gave a sympathetic shake. But Stan was fairly certain that shake was a direct message to himself, that she was attempting to convey what North had already said, that this woman was not for him.
Stan grabbed the bell-pull and tugged again, this time more gently.
Livvy’s head shook faster. He could only imagine how she had to scramble to come up with conversation that matched her odd movements.
He laughed and pulled again.
The conversation between the women ended and the pink cloud moved on. Livvy glared up at the painting and shook her head sharply. The butterfly paused and turned back, noting the position of the bee. Stan was gifted with both a clear look at her face…and a solid punch to his middle. The air was suddenly gone from his lungs and he gasped for breath.
“Dear Lord,” he whispered.
He did not reach for the ribbon again.
CHAPTER TWO
“She is a friend of Livvy’s,” North said, managing to make the statement sound like an apology. “In an attempt to help my wife’s reputation, back when Livvy was hiding from Society, she visited her regularly. They had much in common, of course. Neither of them willing to participate fully in Town life.”
“So it’s her, then? Georgetta Alsbury?”
“Yes. I’m afraid so. The incomparable—and unavailable—granddaughter of Lord Harrington, God rest him.”
“Old Ben?” Stanley frowned and clicked his fingers, trying to remember. “His title went to…”
“A grand-nephew. Nero Littlefield. Strange hairline that dips toward his nose. Currently in my ballroom, as a matter of fact.” North moved back to the wall, reached for the peg to expose the peep hole again, and pressed his face close.
Stanley made no move to follow. One more glimpse of Georgetta Alsbury might be his undoing, she was that beautiful. Of course, it stirred up his rebellious nature to be told she was unavailable for courting. But she also came with her very own mystery, and he was incapable of resisting a mystery.
He remembered the bee following the pink butterfly. Strange hairline indeed.
“This Littlefield fellow?” he said casually.
“Mmm?” His friend’s attention was no doubt on his pretty new wife again.
“Just why is his lovely cousin unavailable?”
North shot him a frown and replaced the peg. “I need to join my wife,” he said. “She cannot host this party alone, you know.”
“North?”
“Yes?” He headed to the door.
“Why is she unavailable?”
His friend stopped and sighed. His shoulders lowered in surrender before he reluctantly turned. “First, I want you to admit you aren’t truly interested. I realize she’s beautiful—”
“Incomparable.”
“Even so, you have only begun to look. You have had one glance.” He gestured toward the peep hole. “And from a distance. Surely it would be a simple thing to forget about her and look for others. That first woman, for instance—”
“What woman?”
“The one for whom you rang the bell first. Miss…” He sputtered in frustration. “I don’t remember her name, but you did ring the bell. And I shall hold you to it.”
The mystery was growing. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Livvy’s skirts swirled in through the doorway with Livvy in them. Her face was pinker than usual, possibly from a quick climb of the steps. Or worse, she was angry about something. And Livvy, angry, never boded well.
She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You stopped ringing the bell. What is wrong, Your Grace? None of them pretty enough for you?”
North snorted.
Livvy only spared him a glance and waited for Stan to answer.
“He wants to know about Georgetta, my love.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open for a long moment. She must have noticed the draft of air in her mouth and recovered. “Absolutely not.”
North leaned back against his father’s old desk like he was settling in for a long discussion. Livvy strode to him and pulled him back to his feet.
“We’ve a hundred guests, Northwick. You’ll have to entertain His Grace another time.” She dragged him to the door. “And Stanley?” She stopped and looked over her shoulder, not giving two whits about his station. “It would be best to think of Georgetta as…a horse. That’s it. Think of her as a horse. Not quite appropriate, or available, to be courted by a future duke. Do you understand?”
