The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount by Julia London Read Free Book Online Page A

he’s a heathen.”
    “Why should they?” Frieda said with a snort. “The man’s fortune is grand enough that they might forgive a mark or two.”
    The two women burst into laughter again.
    “How will that poor man ever choose a wife among them?” Mrs. Turner asked as she returned to the window sash. “And he will choose, do not doubt me. It is the old earl’s dying wish to see him married.”
    “Farley said he won’t marry until the renovations are done and Lady Alice and Lady Jane are married off, for he fears they would frighten a new wife unto death,” Frieda offered.
    “Ach, those two!” Mrs. Turner said with a cluck of her tongue. “And the boys! What trouble they bring to this family! Mr. Joshua Darby is too old to be cavorting about as he does, if you ask me.”
    “That one is a bad seed. Did you hear that he refused to pay his debt after a game of cards?” Frieda whispered.
    “They argue terribly,” Mrs. Turner said with a sigh. “Lord Summerfield is trying to make Joshua into a gentleman, but…” She glanced at Phoebe and suddenly straightened. “Frieda,” Mrs. Turner said sternly. “Madame Dupree has not had the pleasure of meeting any of them yet, and it won’t do to speak ill of them.”
    “Very well,” Frieda said cheerfully. “We’ll content ourselves by merely thinking it,” she said, and laughed when Mrs. Turner frowned at her.
    It was too late—Phoebe’s mind was already reeling.

Five
    H er workroom cleaned and organized, Phoebe was putting together the wire forms she would use to model the sisters’ figures one morning, when Addison informed her that Lady Alice and Lady Jane would be presented to her at three o’clock.
    In preparation, Phoebe laid out samples of all the fabrics that had been sent up from London when she heard an awful commotion in the hall—a sudden outburst of shrieking and pounding that made Phoebe believe someone was actually being harmed. She rushed out into the hall, and there, in the narrow hallway, the young woman she’d seen her first day here was hitting—hitting!—a young man who was wailing like a child.
    Phoebe rushed forward and grabbed the young woman’s arm before she could slap him again. “Stop it!” she cried. “What in heaven’s name are you doing? Stop that before you hurt him!”
    “She cannot hurt me!” the young man huffed angrily as he darted out of the young woman’s reach. “Papa shall hear of this, Jane! Mark me!” he bellowed as he ran down the corridor and disappeared down the stairs.
    “Oh yes, run to Papa! What shall he do strapped in his chair, then?” she shouted after him as he raced away. She looked at Phoebe with eyes filled with tears and jerked her arm from Phoebe’s grasp. “I hate wretched Roger, I swear I do,” she whimpered.
    “Lady Jane or Lady Alice?”
    “Jane.”
    “And wretched Roger?”
    “My brother! He has no right to go into my things!”
    “Of course not. But neither have you any right to hit him.”
    “And what business is it of yours if she did?” a third voice asked.
    Phoebe turned toward the sound of the woman’s voice. She could be none other than Alice—she looked so much like Jane, only taller and more slender than her younger sister. Her gown was too short for her lanky frame, and, like Jane’s gown, its style was dated.
    With her arms folded defensively, Alice walked toward Phoebe. “You’re merely the seamstress, are you not?” she asked coolly as she halted before Phoebe. “You have no right to speak to my sister in such a manner. I could have you dismissed for it.”
    Thankfully, Addison appeared at the top of the stairs before Alice could say more.
    “Aha, Lady Alice, you have come after all!” he said cheerfully. “And here is Lady Jane, too.” He smiled, but Phoebe noticed that his smile did not quite reach his eyes. “I beg your pardon, Madame Dupree. His lordship desired to make the formal introductions, but he is receiving callers.”
    “Mr. and