Free The Countess Conspiracy by Courtney Milan Page A

that nobody ever finds out.”
    No. Hope was pointless. She should never have harbored it, or it wouldn’t be crushing her under this enormous weight.
    “Don’t worry, Mama,” Violet said. “I know what it would mean.” Her chin went up. “I won’t let anything happen. A lady protects her own, after all.”
    She might have been imagining the moisture that seemed to temporarily cloud her mother’s vision. For a second, she was almost sure it was there. But then her mother raised her chin, and she knew it had been an illusion after all.

Chapter Five

    A T PRECISELY NINE MINUTES BEFORE FOUR, Sebastian arrived home, a gratifyingly large stack of paperwork tucked into his briefcase. He’d had one encounter with Violet in Hyde Park already today, and he both feared and anticipated their next meeting. But he had to be ready to brave lions—or Violet. Whichever he happened to encounter first.
    Lions would have been easier to convince, he thought ruefully, and less dangerous.
    But whether he was meeting a pride of lions or a single Violet, preparations had to be made. He gave his valet the rest of the day off, settled the details of the evening meal with his cook, and retreated to his back garden with strict orders that he didn’t wish to be bothered.
    That he
had
a back garden, and one of this size, had been a matter of the utmost necessity. He had needed space—space where he might retreat and speak with a woman without any of his servants discerning that he had done so. Today, he walked through the gap in the hedge that surrounded the outdoor terrace, whistling merrily. He went past the shed that had been converted into an office, the greenhouse that he used to bamboozle visitors. He slid behind a pair of bushes that nestled up against the back wall. From there, it was a matter of opening the hidden gate and sliding through.
    That gate opened onto a dark alley. Calling it an
alley
exaggerated its status. The space was nothing more than an abbreviated gap between two walls, formed because fifty years ago, one homeowner had wanted a garden wall of brick, while his neighbor wished for one of stone. This gap, scarcely two feet wide, was cluttered with old leaves and—because it had been a while since they were both in London—three months’ worth of cobwebs. Twenty-four yards down this uncomfortable passage, in the other wall—the wall of brick, not the wall of stone—stood another gate, this one overgrown with ivy.
    Sebastian made his way there. Ivy creepers had wrapped little tendrils around the iron gate; he clipped the strands free, and stepped into the lion’s den. Otherwise known as Violet’s back garden.
    Long ago, they’d chosen a simple code.
    Farewell
meant
I’m not available today.
    Until next time
meant
I’ll be in my garden until three.
There were fifty-two other possibilities, and they all came down to the same thing.
I don’t have time for you any longer
meant that Violet had wanted to meet with him this evening.
    What could happen? Sebastian couldn’t guess.
    The view of Violet’s house was blocked by a tall screen of lime trees, one that helped preserve their privacy. Violet’s London greenhouse wasn’t as large as the one on her Cambridge property—a few hundred square feet. A sign on the door proclaimed:
The countess is NOT to be bothered except in the cases of Death, Disembowelment, the Apocalypse, or the Arrival of her Mother.
    Sebastian ignored this dire warning and stepped inside. The entry was a mere pace or two wide, but there was enough room for him to shrug into a smock, find a pair of gloves, and check himself for insects. When he’d done so, he passed through the second door.
    A set of wheeled shelves stood on either side. These were crammed with hundreds of miniature clay pots scarcely higher than his thumb. Each of them was marked; the ones nearest him read
CD101, CD102.
    Sawhorses elevated massive beds of soil waist-high. They stretched from where Sebastian stood down to the