That wasn’t West. She shaded her eyes, looking over the audience. It was Mr. Atwater and Mr. Herrick, her publishers. This would do wonders for sales. She was a bona fide scandal.

Viola curtsied, walking back to her seat on shaky knees.

“That was sublime,” Betsy said when Viola joined them. “And I don’t usually like carols.”

“You were wonderful,” Birdie agreed.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us that you had composed the carol,” Bernadette said.

“It was supposed to remain a secret.”

“There’s no keeping your talent a secret, Viola,” West said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. “It shines too brightly.”

“I agree,” said Blanche, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

As they walked through the crowded hall, they were met with greetings, praise, and much outrage. The indignant audience members received a stern and lethal stare from the formerly wicked Duke of Westbury, which silenced them quickly enough.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Viola said when they were safely in their coach, just the two of them.

“It happened. You’re going to be famous, my dear. That carol will be on everyone’s lips by tomorrow.”

“Infamous, more like.”

“You were always going to be infamous, having made the dubious decision to marry the most notorious duke in London . . . for love.”

“I did marry you for love. But it had something to do with kissing, as well.”

“One kiss from me had you swooning into my arms, begging for more. I’ll have you begging tonight, my love, mark my words.”

Later that evening at Westbury House Viola and West were sitting with his sisters, except for Birdie, who had gone to bed, when there was a knock at the door.

“Who could that be at this late hour?” Viola asked.

“That will be Lord Flanders,” said Blanche, blushing. “He’s just now returned from his estate, where he was speaking with his father. He’ll be wanting to speak with you, West.”

“What’s this?” West asked.

Blanche’s eyes shone. “He’s proposed and I accepted. With your blessing, of course.”

Bernadette lifted her nose from the novel she was reading. “I heartily approve. He has a good scientific mind.”

“Flanders?” West exclaimed. “But I thought you had no affection for him, Blanche.”

“I thought the same thing—I’ve no idea why. It hit me so suddenly, as though storm clouds had cleared from my mind. I’ve loved him all along. I assume you’ll give him your blessing since you tried to force me to marry him at one point.”

“And you were dead set against it. You wailed and carried on.”

“He’s a dear, sweet, honorable man. I just couldn’t see it because I was so fixated on Laxton. Who turned out to be horrid and unworthy.”

Belinda lowered her eyes. “The most horrid man in London.”

“So you actually want to marry Flanders?” West asked.