Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London Book 4)

by Beverley Oakley

  “Which is exactly where our marriage will be conducted in the most respectable and natural fashion possible,” said Max sounding ridiculously pleased. “The ship’s captain will marry us, and Violet will look as stylish as any modern bride. My aunt has already seen to that. Now, enough said for the moment.” Max took Violet’s hand more firmly, then reached for Emily’s. “Come, ladies.” He nodded at Bainbridge in dismissal. “I’m sorry for your loss, Bainbridge. But it is my gain. I love Violet. I’ve loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her and I will love her for the rest of time.”

  He opened the door, hesitating on the threshold to cup her face, his hands trailing down to the gold chain around her neck.

  “I believe this belongs to you, Bainbridge,” he murmured, unclasping the ‘token’ and passing it to his erstwhile colleague without even looking at him.

  “Just as Violet belongs to you?” Bainbridge responded with a sneer as the chain pooled in his open palm.

  Max shook his head. “Oh no, Violet is her own woman,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I’m just fortunate that she’s agreed to make me the happiest man alive.”

  Epilogue

  “Gin and tonic, dear? It certainly is hot.”

  Violet leant back in her camp chair and closed her eyes, smiling as she fanned herself. “Why not, Aunt?” She turned at the soft tread of boots; clapping her hands in pleasure as Max emerged from the bush and strode across the sand towards them. His gun was slung across his shoulder, and his khakis were streaked with dirt and sweat.

  “Emily and I have organised dinner for us, haven’t we?” he said to the girl at his side. “And dinner for an entire village since she shot a buffalo, so we’ve made ourselves very popular in the district. What have you and Aunt Euphemia been doing while we’ve been gone?” He bent to kiss Violet’s brow and murmured for her ears only, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you. And how much I desire an early night.”

  Pleasure sparked through her as she retained her hold on his hand. “Your aunt and I have been doing a little of this and a little of that and not very much at all, though you should know that she has not had a paroxysm of coughing in two days. I think this hot, dry part of the world really is doing her good.”

  It had been Max’s idea to visit his aunt one last time before they set sail. But it had been Violet’s spontaneous suggestion while they were all in her drawing room that she accompany them to a climate that would be conducive to her health.

  Aunt Euphemia’s acceptance had been hesitant at first, which was only natural since she’d had just four hours in which to pack. Then joyful and touching because, as she stated, and as they all knew, what did she have to look forward to in England?

  Less easy to navigate was the information that Violet and Max were not, in fact, legally wed. Miss Thistlethwaite, however, was shrewder than Violet had given her credit for so after her initial surprise, she’d indicated that Violet explain the circumstances, as she chose and in her own words, when the time was right. This had led Violet to imagining her next few days would be spent agonising over how she could illuminate Max’s aunt on at least the basics of why Max had not married her properly—and in a manner which would not horrify her.

  Only, how could she explain her sordid past?

  Exposure had come earlier than expected when Miss Thistlethwaite had wanted to reassure herself that Violet had her wedding gown properly packed so that she could wear it for the ship’s marriage service.

  The truth was that the gown was still at the St John’s Wood residence Lord Bainbridge had secured for her, and Violet was too ashamed and afraid to venture over that threshold once more.

  But Miss Thistlethwaite had been adamant, saying that in truth, the gown belonged to her, and that she didn’t care where it was being kept right now; she intended to reclaim it.

  Violet could only breathe a sigh of relief that it wasn’t at Madame Chambon’s.

  So, she and Aunt Euphemia—as the old lady had insisted Violet now call her—had taken a hackney to St John’s Wood where, to Violet’s horror, they had come upon Lord Bainbridge himself, ensuring that the more valuable pieces of jewellery he’d given Violet had not been taken. He’d managed to keep his anger in check for the sake of the old lady, clearly, but he’d said enough in the time it had taken the maid to fetch the wedding gown, to make clear his arrangement with Violet.

  So, Violet’s shame was on display. And, although nothing had been said implicitly, Aunt Euphemia now knew that Violet had been kept in sin by another man; a fact corroborated comfortably by Max a short time later when he’d reminded his rather quiet and clearly brooding aunt that he didn’t know what else might have become of Violet after her violent and quite mad grandmother had thrown her onto the streets.

  Now, as Violet and Aunt Euphemia watched Max and Emily disappearing towards their tents, singing the latest ditty Max had taught his young ward, the old lady sighed as she leaned over to clink glasses with Violet.

  “My nephew really does adore you and…” She trailed off, her pale blue eyes having taken on a faraway look. “I imagine affection is all the greater for knowing there are no secrets or skeletons in the closet.”

  “Because Max knows the worst of my sins yet can still love me? Oh dear, please don’t cry Aunt Euphemia.” Violet rose and put down her glass, so she could comfort the old woman who’d become so important to her. “Yes, shame is a terrible thing, but I’ve been so lucky in that Max has known the very worst of me from the very start. It makes what we have now even richer in value to me.” She knelt at the foot of the chair and began to stroke the old lady’s arm. “Please, there’s no need to cry on my behalf. You can see how very happy I am. I…I’m just so sorry to have disappointed you.” She was dismayed to think how much worse Aunt Euphemia would think of her if she knew everything.

  “I’m not disappointed in you in the slightest.” Aunt Euphemia’s voice was muffled through the lace-edged handkerchief. “It’s the fact that my darling nephew was noble enough and intelligent enough to embrace you and your future, rather than take your past as the sum of your value. I mean, I… Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

  Violet looked at her, perplexed, for Aunt Euphemia was crying even harder. “What are you trying to say, dearest?” Violet asked soothingly, as she stroked the old lady’s cheek. “You can tell me.”

  Aunt Euphemia took a quivering breath and gripped Violet’s wrist. “When I was thirty-five, I did have an opportunity to marry. Septimus and I spent a summer at Tunbridge Wells where I met a kind widower. He wasn’t exciting, like Richard. I didn’t love him, as I had Richard, but he courted me, and I was ready to accept him.”

  Violet looked at her with compassion. “But Septimus was determined to ruin your happiness as he had when Richard wanted to marry you?”

  “To the contrary, Septimus thought Mr Sparrow was as good a catch as a woman of my advancing years could hope for. For a start, he was rich whereas Richard had been like a bolt of lightning—full of ideas and energy but with no funds behind him.”

  “But…why did the marriage not go ahead?”

  Aunt Euphemia began to cry softly again. “I wanted to confess to him my sins so that we could forge a future with no secrets.”

  “But Richard was surely not a past secret you needed to be ashamed of,” Violet protested.

  “Having his baby was.”

  Violet exhaled sharply. Her limbs felt like jelly. She’d never been so shocked. Or felt such pity. She’d known many girls at Madame Chambon’s who had been forced to manage such situations. Fortunately, she’d not been one of them, though she hoped with all her might that not taking the usual precautions would see that she and Max were blessed with children when the time was right.

  Aunt Euphemia, by contrast, would have known nothing of sexual matters.

  Confused, she clarified, “But…I thought Richard wanted to marry you when you were very young?”

  “He did.” Aunt Euphemia nodded. “But Septimus gave
him short shrift and forbade me to see him. He returned ten years later, and our love for each other was undimmed. But Septimus caught us. He beat Richard without mercy and sent him away. This was twenty-five years ago now, and I’ve counted each passing month faithfully. I never saw him again.” She hung her head and put a hand to her belly. “But nine months later I bore his child. Septimus sent me to a couple in Norfolk. They were kind enough, but in his pay. I never even held my daughter. I was made…told…to forget the past, but never to forget my sins. Five years later, when Mr Sparrow came courting me, I believed I could find a kind of contentment with him. I dearly wanted to escape Septimus, and Mr Sparrow seemed so very sympathetic and kind. He said he hoped we would have children someday and was so very sad he’d not been blessed in his previous marriage. In fact, his greatest fear was that we might never have children and that’s when I blurted out the fact that I was capable of bearing them; that I had borne a child. It was a grave miscalculation and one about which I won’t go into detail. Suffice to say, I’m glad I didn’t marry a man who couldn’t accept my past. You, on the other hand, have found a man who loves you despite the men in your life.”

  Violet smiled. So, Aunt Euphemia knew there’d been more than one.

  “I have indeed. And I’ve found an aunt—someone who is far dearer to me than my own remaining relative—who has accepted my past, too.” She kissed the old lady’s cheek. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

  “Just what I like to see! Happy families in the African bush.” Max’s tone was carefree as he emerged from the nearby tent having just put on the phonograph. A few crackling sounds of a waltz were making themselves heard above the twilight calls of the birds and the distant trumpeting of a herd of elephants. Brahms. Violet recognised the painfully beautiful strains of music.

  “Dance with me, my love.” He drew Violet into his arms, calling for Emily to finish braiding her hair for dinner as she was needed for an impromptu dance party. “You can partner your old aunt, Emily m’dear. She’s looking chirpier than I’ve seen her in a long time.” He nuzzled Violet’s ear, sighing in pleasure as he held her close. “You did right in insisting she join us. I wasn’t sure her health or her sensibilities were up to it.”

  Violet wrapped her arms about his neck and melted against the man who’d given her so much and accepted so much. In the three months they’d been exploring South Africa, moving north to the hotter, sandier regions, she’d never felt more unencumbered. She’d left the burden of her past in a more rigid society where she’d not have been accepted, she knew.

  But out here, beneath this endless sky that was preparing its final show of beauty before darkness fell, she felt the greatest affinity with her new surroundings.

  “I don’t think you need to worry on either account. Your aunt’s sensibilities are no more or less finely tuned than yours or mine, Max. And she’s happy now. Like she’s not been in a long time.”

  Max smiled and kissed her gently on the lips before he tilted his head. For a moment, they both gazed about them in silent wonder—at the camel thorn trees silhouetted against the fast gathering dusk; the pinks and purples of the sunset almost swallowed up by darkness, and at their comfortably furnished tents just beyond a blazing campfire.

  Max held her tighter. He gazed into her face; his expression serious. “The first night I met you, Violet, I said I was sailing away from England to find freedom. I thought freedom was leaving behind what had become detestable to me. But I was wrong.” He cupped her face, not caring that Emily and his aunt were so close. “Freedom was finding you, Violet. And being allowed to enjoy you in a place where there was no judgement. A place like this.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands then touched his lips to hers. “Look at the beauty of that sunset; all golden and violet. Magnificent and beautiful. Like you. I love you, Violet,” he said simply. “I love you for everything that has made you who you are. And I love you for making me realise the kind of man I want to be. Principled and proud of doing what’s right. Not an orphan with an exacting grandfather whose rule I must escape but a family man who relishes his unexpected responsibilities.” He returned Aunt Euphemia’s smile as he moved Violet languidly round the termite mound that punctuated their dance floor, while Brahms’ Waltz in A-Flat floated on the breeze.

  Violet swallowed past the lump in her throat, her eyelashes damp as he went on, “Responsibilities that include an aunt in her twilight years who surely isn’t too old to find herself a diamond magnate or an elephant hunter. Because we are never too old to find love and love can surprise us when we least expect it. And my greatly-adored young sister-in-law who has learnt to shoot a target at 100 yards, and who promises to break as many hearts as there are stars up there.”

  A few yards away Emily and Aunt Euphemia were giggling at their attempts to coordinate their dance steps. They looked so carefree and happy that Violet was almost overwhelmed by love for them.

  “You were so keen to set off with just yourself yet suddenly you were responsible for three women, Max. And you’ve taken it in such good heart, like the decent, noble, responsible man you are.” Violet raised herself on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Warmth spread from her toes and up through her heart and shoulders like liquid honey as Max held her and the achingly poignant sounds of the familiar waltz enveloped them.

  “If this is responsibility, my sweet Violet,” he murmured, stroking her cheek, “then let me be shackled by it for the rest of my life.”

  The End

  Other Books in the Series

  SAVING GRACE (BOOK 1)

  Grace Fortune trusts no one after she was betrayed by the man she once loved.

  Now, she's the most popular 'Cyprian' at Madame Chambon's high-class London House of Assignation, consort of aristocrats and princes.

  As Faith prepares for her next job as the special initiation ‘gift’ procured by a mother in fashionable Mayfair for her son’s twenty-first birthday, she plans her revenge.

  But revenge has a strange habit of turning the tables.

  (This book was originally published by Pan Macmillan Momentum and has since been revised.)

  Heartfelt, sizzling and with a note of redemption that'll please even the cynics.

  Read for FREE here.

  FORSAKING HOPE (Book 2)

  Honour? Or her heart's desire?

  Two years ago, Felix Lord Durham believed that Hope, the vicar's beautiful daughter, had chosen to live in Germany as a governess rather than accept the marriage proposal he'd hinted at.

  Why else would she have failed to appear for their final secret assignation? Why else would Felix be given snippets about her new life on the Continent from various sources?

  Now the divine "Miss Hope" is in Felix's bed - a surprise gift from his friends designed to lift his spirits and sourced from London's most exclusive brothel, Madame Chambon's.

  Despite feeling betrayed, Felix can't bear to lose her again, but Hope Merriweather is bound to her new life by a dark secret. Having sacrificed the man she loves once already, she must choose again: Honour or her heart's desire?

  Here’s what reviewers are saying:

  “So very different from most of the historical romance books I've read. Well written with plot twists and hinting but not quite divulging what is the behind cause. Truly enjoyed this book.”

  “Oh, I like this series! …I started reading a bit late in the evening and had to read late into the night as I did not want to stop. Lots of tension. Good balance of dialog and action, some of it steamy.”

  Buy here.

  KEEPING FAITH

  Revenge is sweet until it breaks your heart.

  Falsely accused of stealing, Faith is given two choices: Fend for herself on the streets of London, or become indentured to Madame Chambon, the ruthless proprietor of London's most exclusive brothel.

  In order to survive, Faith submits to the machinations of a mysterious benefactress and begins a new life under Madame Chambon’s roof. However, she doe
s not live like the other girls.

  Rather, she's taught the theory of how to entrance London’s noble gentlemen with her learning in philosophy, politics and art.

  Her body is to be saved for the greatest enticement of all: revenge.

  Faith doesn’t care what she has to do. She lives only to fulfil a bargain that will set her free.

  But when Faith is recruited as the muse of a talented, sensitive painter whose victory in a prestigious art competition turns them both into celebrities overnight, she discovers the reasons behind her mission are very different from what she'd been led to believe.

  Now she is complicit in something dark and dangerous while riches, adulation and freedom are hers for the taking.

  But what value are these if her heart has become a slave to the honorable man she is required to destroy?

  Keeping Faith is book 3 in the Fair Cyprians of London series but can be read as a stand-alone.

  Buy here.

  Here's what the readers say about the books in the series:

  “This is one of the most interesting stories on why a girl might become an escort. The twists and turns are breathtaking...I couldn't put this down.”

  “Oh my! This story just makes you fall in love! It's exciting. It never lags. And what a most satisfying ending!”