***
With Aubrey out of danger, it was inevitable that her brother would put his foot down. In truth, Violette knew she could not impose upon Lord and Lady Falmouth’s kindness any longer. If it had been discovered that she was there, they would have suffered the scandal just as she would, and she could not allow that to happen.
Celeste promise to visit her often and bring her news of Aubrey, but once again, Winterbourne destroyed all of her plans.
“I won’t go!” she raged at him, furious that he could be so heartless and unfeeling. “I will simply run away again.”
“That you will not!”
She took a stumbling step backwards as Edward turned on her, and for the first time in her life, she felt truly afraid of her brother. When had he become so angry? What had happened to the laughing, good-natured man he had been before he left that last time and hadn’t come back?
She watched as he clutched at his head, aware by now headaches and sleeplessness plagued him, none of which softened his already-brittle temperament.
He took a deep breath, and she watched him struggle to hold on to the thread of his temper, his hands clenched into fists. “You will come with me to Longwold,” he said, the words bitten out. “There you will prepare for your come out. We will return to London in January and then you will be introduced into society.”
“You mean that will give you time to finalise your ridiculous plan to marry me to the Duke of Ranleigh,” she retorted, though she took care to keep a distance between them. “Well, you may plan all you want, brother, but I won’t have him!”
“You will do as I say!” he snarled, his handsome face contorted with fury.
Violette hauled in a startled breath and backed away from him. “I don’t know you,” she whispered. “I don’t know who you have become. My brother would have seen me happy.”
“Your brother would have seen you safe!” he spat back, his green eyes febrile with rage. “Not married to man with a reputation as a libertine and with rumours of a bastard child to his name. Not to mention the fact he can’t afford to marry you!”
“The child is not his!” Violette objected, daring to take a step forward. “And if anything, it’s my fault his reputation is in tatters. Going to Mrs Dashton, meeting poor Jenny and her baby, all of it happened because he was looking for you!” she cried, furious and beyond frustrated by the unfairness of it. “He did all of that for me, Edward.”
“It matters little,” Edward replied, his tone implacable. “His reputation is forever sullied, and it doesn’t change the fact that he is beneath you.”
“B-beneath me?” Violette stammered, so shocked and appalled that she was trembling. “He saved your life, Edward. He saved your life!”
But her brother just turned his back on her. “You will be ready to leave at first light, Violette. We have a long journey ahead of us, and be warned, even if I must have you bound and gagged, you will be on that carriage tomorrow.”
Chapter 22
“Wherein patience is a virtue, and a misery to bear.”
To Lady Violette Greyston.
November 8th, 1817
Mayfair.
London.
My dearest friend,
Falmouth and I were so distressed when we learned of your brother’s removal from London to the Cotswold’s. I trust that the journey was not too fatiguing. I find the journey to Tregothnan a terrible trial, I have to admit.
I am so glad to know you will return for the season though. You will, of course, have a spectacular come-out. I hope you will try to enjoy this time even if your heart is not in it.
Our dear friend, of course, is making steady progress and gaining in strength. He tires easily still, however, and is forced to walk with a cane on the occasions he is allowed out of bed. This actually makes him appear rather dashing though naturally I have been forced to tease him over it. He has become really rather cross with me, truth be told.
You know, of course, all the things that he wishes to say to you, things which I cannot write here. Just assure yourself that nothing has changed on his part. He has been talking to Alex a great deal and involving himself in a business venture which Alex has begun with. I believe he means to make his fortune.
Be patient and strong, my dear. We all miss you dreadfully and long for you to return to us.
Au revoir, ma chérie,
Lady Celeste Sinclair.
Violette watched the words on the page blur and then blinked the tears away. She had read and reread the letter a dozen or more times over the past fortnight. Celeste had written again, of course, but she was careful never to say anything further concerning Aubrey than: “Mr Russell is in good health and sends his regards.” Violette knew well that Celeste had her best interests at heart, and she was grateful, but she longed for news of him. She longed to hear how he really was, what message he had for her, if he was in as much agony of suspense as the days crawled past as she was. But, of course, it was impossible. If her brother suspected the letters contained any such messages, he’d stop the correspondence altogether. He had become quite the tyrant.
Blowing her nose, Violette put the letter away with care and smiled to herself. Yes, indeed, she would have a spectacular come out, just as Winterbourne intended. She would wear the fabulous and glittering finery that her brother had lavished such money on in the hopes of securing the duke for her, and she would create the biggest scandal she possibly could. It would serve him justly for his tyranny.
Her brother would learn the hard way that Violette Greyston was not a woman to be easily thwarted.
He could shout and rage and slam doors to his heart’s content, and indeed he did, and continued to do so. But she had learned that he would never hurt her physically, no matter how she provoked him, and Lord, had she provoked him. Living with him was like living with a coiled snake, but her anger and resentment had made her vindictive and she could not resist the urge to poke it with a stick.
She had gone out of her way, in fact, to make life as difficult as possible for him. She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
She walked to the window and stared out at the extraordinary view from her bedroom. Longwold was a vast estate. Situated high on the Cotswold escarpment, the views over the landscape were breath-taking. Rolling hills and steep paths and deep swathes of woodland were all visible, and on a clear day, you could even see the Mendips from the house’s proud position at the highest point on the Cotswold edge.
Today, however, there was a coiling mist wreathing the hills, clinging close to the ground and giving the countryside an ethereal, unearthly look.
Violette sighed and watched a red kite circling above the fields, its tiny shape sharp and dark against the winter white sky. Less than six weeks to go, she told herself. Oh God, but it felt like a lifetime. Six weeks before she could even catch a glimpse of Aubrey. Six weeks before her heart would feel able to beat again, trapped as it was in a suffocating fog of sadness.
She took a breath and stood a little taller, putting up her chin.
Six weeks.
And then she would be Mrs Russell.
***
Aubrey stepped down onto the icy street with care. His dignity was a fragile enough thing these days without landing on his backside on the filthy street. Cane in hand, he limped up the steps to his cousin’s grand house in Mayfair, clutching a much-read news sheet under his arm. For the first time in days, he felt a glimmer of hope, of excitement even, after a period that had been the most tedious and depressing of his whole life.
Strange really, he had become a dashing and heroic figure in the eyes of the ton. Oh, he was still believed a rake and a libertine, but now ... now there was the other side of him for them to gossip over, the side who would take a bullet to save a peer of the realm. Aubrey gave a snort of disgust at the idea. He’d been saving Violette’s brother. He’d done it for her and no other reason. The idea that he would probably have acted so, no matter who the man in question was, he pushed away with
out regarding.
There were so many gilt-edged invitations on his mantel these days he could have attended a dozen or more soirées most nights of the week if he chose. The fact that he didn’t choose to go out any more than was necessary only seemed to add an extra glitter to his reputation. Anyone securing his presence at their gathering was seen to be truly fashionable.
It was beyond ridiculous.
He could rub shoulders with the Duke of York if he so chose, but he could not turn himself into a match that the Marquess of Winterbourne would desire for his sister.
Falmouth had been a brick, of course. Sensing that Aubrey was languishing and miserable in his recovery, he’d admitted that he too was restless and looking for a new project. The trading company he had created was running smoothly in his younger brother Lawrence’s hands. These days he no longer felt the desire to take to the seas as Celeste was a poor sailor and he would not be parted from her.
Whether Alex was being entirely truthful or just trying to give Aubrey’s mind something other than his own misery to occupy it, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he was grateful for the distraction. Even more so as he thought perhaps he had hit upon something. A way in which he might change his fortunes. Not overnight, perhaps, but maybe in a year ... or two or three ...
He felt his heart clench, knowing Violette would be married to the blasted Duke of Ranleigh by the time he’d been able to establish himself. Even if by some miracle he managed it, no doubt his reputation as a gentleman would be sullied by the idea of him actually doing something to earn his fortune rather than merely inheriting it.
He would never measure up to the Ranleighs of this world, that was for certain.
Pushing such dark musing aside, he hurried into the warmth of Falmouth’s town house. As the butler led him through to the study, he held on tight to the only spark of light, aside from Violette herself, that had the power to keep him awake till the early hours.
Alex got to his feet as Aubrey came in the room, and he found himself touched by the warmth in his older cousin’s eyes as he approached. Strange how things worked out, really. Aubrey had spent most of his life in awe and more than a little fearful of Alex, and yet in recent months, he’d come to realise that rather aloof exterior was merely that: an exterior he showed to the world.
The affection and regard which Alex had shown for him since that fateful night outside Almack’s had been more of a surprise than anything. That Alex actually seemed to respect both his opinions and the fact that he did actually have a head for business, despite his father’s lack of faith, had given him the confidence he’d been sorely lacking.
Now he added drive to that confidence, a burning desire to do something to show his father and Winterbourne he was a man to be reckoned with.
He waved the paper at Alex, quite unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “Did you see this?”
Alex looked down at the crumpled news sheet. “The Duke of Portland’s place at Troon?” he said, looking at the headline. “Oh yes, Stephenson has got the locomotive running, hauling coal from the mines.” Alex looked up and grinned at him. “Do you know I don’t think you ever got over that trip to the Penydarren Ironworks, did you?”
Aubrey flushed a little but smiled, remembering being taken as a very young man of twelve or thirteen to see Richard Trevithick’s steam locomotive. He’d been enthralled by the great metal beast, it was true, and it had stuck in his mind.
“But Stevenson has taken it further, Alex, just look.” He found he was quite unable to contain himself as he spoke. “Imagine the possibilities for travel, for the movement of goods, the speed with which we could cross the country, cross continents, even, with a machine like that?”
Alex laughed and shook his head. “Well, yes, but the things run on tracks Aubrey, it’s not such a simple matter.”
“No, of course it isn’t,” he said, running a hand through his hair with impatience. “But they’ll be wanting investors surely, forward thinking men who can see the possibilities. Think of it, Alex!”
As Aubrey watched his cousin’s eyes, he could see he was thinking about it. He sat down and held out the news sheet, his dark brows drawn together.
“Very well, Aubrey,” he said, at length. “I’ll leave it in your hands.”
“What?” Aubrey replied, puzzled. “Leave what in my hands?”
Alex shrugged. “I told you I had money set aside to invest. Investigate this project and see what you think. If you believe it’s sound and that you can negotiate a deal you are happy with, that’s good enough for me. I’ll, of course, make it worth your while. You’d be amenable to payment via investment shares, I assume?”
Aubrey opened his mouth and closed it again. “Are you quite sure, Alex, I mean ...” he began as Alex sighed and folded his arms.
“Do you believe this locomotive is truly going to change the face of travel and the movements of goods, or do you not?”
“Well, y-yes,” he stammered, but he hadn’t expected Alex to put him in charge of the - frankly staggering - sum of money he had set aside for his next project with no more than a news sheet and few excited words from him.
“Well, then,” Alex replied with a blithe wave of his hand. “That’s good enough for me.”
“But, Alex,” Aubrey objected, wondering why he was arguing his way out of what might well be his salvation. “You can’t possibly ...”
The words died in this throat as he caught Alex’s look of mild exasperation. “Aubrey, my dear fellow,” he said, getting to his feet and laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You have proved to me over these past weeks that you have a very fine mind that has been allowed to languish because of your fool of a father. Please allow me the benefit of the doubt in the matter of my own judgement. I think, at my age, I am allowed the belief that I am not a fool, and I can recognise talent when I see it. I trust your judgement, Aubrey. There is an end to it. I put the affair entirely in your capable hands.”
“I-I never meant to imply ...” Aubrey began, not sure whether to be delighted or mortified, but Alex just laughed at him.
“You might like to speak with Sindalton as well. I’ll make sure to introduce you to him. Strikes me that it’s the sort of thing the duke might be interested in.”
Aubrey just blinked and nodded. There seemed little more to say other than, “Thank you, Alex, truly. I won’t let you down.”
“I know.” The words were said with such confidence that Aubrey could not help but be buoyed by them, and he let out a breath. Suddenly the world seemed a little less gloomy, and his situation just a little less impossible. Not much, admittedly, since he still needed a miracle or an elevation to the peerage but ... well, it was something, at least.
Chapter 23
“Wherein Violette plots her own disgrace.”
Staring out of the carriage at a frozen landscape, Violette shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her. The hot brick beneath her feet had cooled down some time ago and she felt chilled to the bone. But she didn’t care a jot. She was on her way back to London, and to Aubrey.
She was aware that she still didn’t have a solid plan of how exactly she was going to force Aubrey to marry her. He was an honourable man, after all, and unless she’d ruined herself so completely that no one else would possibly have her, she doubted he’d go through with it.
At the same time, however, she did have her pride, and she didn’t want some truly awful rumour going around about her. After all, Aubrey would not want to be completely shunned by society. So, she needed to be ruined just enough, but not so irredeemably as to put her completely beyond the pale.
It was a dilemma.
Her brother kept casting her suspicious looks from across the carriage. Violette didn’t blame him. It was fairly obvious she was plotting something nefarious as she’d kept her lip buttoned for most of the past three days rather than using every opportunity to rile him. She knew she ought to have kept up the pressure, but she was too lost in her own concerns to k
eep tormenting him. A pity, but there it was. The devil of it was that he would no doubt be watching her like a hawk now. Getting away from him at all was going to take all of her evil genius.
Glancing across the carriage once more, she saw her brother’s watchful gaze narrow, his expression cautious and leery. Favouring him with a saccharine smile, she tossed her blonde curls and turned to look out the window. Violette pictured his face when the news was broken to him she had become Mrs Russell and tried not to grin. She bit her lip to curb her amusement and glanced back to see the leery expression was now a full-blown scowl. She turned away quickly, hugging her arms around herself and doing her best to look guileless. Let him stew, she thought with satisfaction. Suddenly she didn’t feel so terribly cold.
It was, of course, natural she would want to return to see her dear friend Celeste the moment she was back in town. After all that her brother owed to the Falmouth’s, from giving her sanctuary to finding him before he could suffer at the hands of his cousin, he could hardly quibble. Violette did, however, have to suffer a severe lecture on her deportment and a warning she was under no circumstances to meet with Mr Russell.
Violette suffered it, seething inwardly, but somehow managed to keep the vexation from her face whilst murmuring, yes, Eddie and no, Eddie, at the appropriate moments. It was harder to keep outwardly placid and agree with him than she might have imagined when all she wanted to do was throw things at him. Instead, she kept her hands demurely in her lap and wondered where she’d inherited her violent impulses from. Maybe she’d inherited some of the Greyston family madness herself?
By the time she’d found her way to Mayfair, however, she was wound tight enough that her words cascaded in a dramatic tumble around poor Celeste, who stared at her in alarm.
“Zut alors!” Celeste cried, taking her hands and guiding her to a chair. “Calm yourself, Violette. I cannot understand what you are telling me. What is this, your brother engages you to Ranleigh?”
Nearly Ruining Mr. Russell Page 19