by Beth Byers
He didn’t seem as confident based off of the garden. Violet didn’t quite realize the house had come with so much land, and she guessed that Victor hadn’t known either. He looked a little wild about the eyes as the auto finally stopped.
The house was gray stone with a new red roof. It had several steps down and gargoyles on either side of the house. There were matching ones on the roof. This was no mere cottage in the country. She counted a good half dozen windows on each side of the house. This was a home you needed to actually manage.
Victor’s expression was solemn as he took it in. She knew he’d prefer some little place near the sea over this thing. Was he feeling the choke of chains weighing him down? Actual responsibility? Was her future going to include taking care of this as well? Victor wasn’t one whose mind wanted to linger long on linens and tree-pruning, and yet there were probably dozens of rooms inside and definitely orchards on either side of the house.
The gardener glanced back at the three of them in the car. There was a smirk about his lips, and Violet was sure he was used to the reaction his creation caused. The gardens were astounding. He hadn’t missed Violet’s gasp as she’d taken them in, and his gaze settled on her. He wasn’t expecting praise. He seemed to think she didn’t note his gaze, and she felt almost as if he were stripping her bare.
She met his gaze and raised a brow. With a scowl and a bit of bite in his voice he said, “There’s a daily servant here to help you get started. The butler and housekeeper retired when Mrs. Higgins died. Wasn’t able to find anyone else. Not really my place.”
Violet rubbed her brow. “Do you know of anyone who might be interested in the position?”
The gardener shook his head again. He was so blithe in his response, Violet felt as though he’d kept a name back. She knew she was irritable, but the way he shrugged and gestured to the house didn’t make her like him in the least.
Victor had opened the auto door and handed out Kate and Violet. She walked up the steps and Giles—Victor’s gentlemen’s gentlemen—opened the doors.
“Bless you, Giles,” Violet said, sneezing again and then moaning a little. “How bad is it?”
“Not too bad, my lady,” he said. “Your man of business has the place up and running. The furniture arrived. It looks fresh and new for the most part. I suspect that they had to get rid of most everything.”
Violet nodded. “To be honest, I would just very much like a bed. I’ll explore later. Did Beatrice find my room?”
“Indeed, my lady. Beatrice has been rushing with the daily girl to get the beds made up, fires started. The house doesn’t have central heating. The gardener really should have at least lit the fires.”
Violet didn’t care as long as her room was ready. “Kate will take care of whatever needs to be done. I’m sorry, love.”
“Go lie down,” Kate ordered. “Victor and I will see to everything.”
Violet walked up the steps and down the hall. There was a master bedroom, a bedroom for the lady of the house, and three more excellent bedrooms. Violet took the room that had the things she’d ordered for herself when they’d been buying furniture. She’d selected wallpaper, carpet, and furniture. It had been the first time she’d been able to decorate a bedroom for herself since having money of her own, and she’d had fun even if she had been rushed.
At that moment, however, she sent a cursory glance over the room while she dropped her wet things. Her room was grey and black with lavender accents. The bed was a black canopy with dragons carved into the head and footboard. The quilt was entirely grey with deep purple embroidery to create Chinese style dragons.
The fire was crackling merrily, and the bed had been made with the covers pulled back. Beatrice had pulled out a heavy nightgown and robe, and she popped out of the closet. “Oh, there you are, my lady. I thought you might like a bath? I have everything ready if you wish.”
“Goodness yes,” Violet agreed. “A bath, a nap, tea?”
“Letty is making it. She agreed to stay on while we’re here.”
“Bless you. Ask her about housekeepers and give the names to Victor.” A wicked yawn had Violet grabbing onto the wall while her world went askew. A moment later, she tried and failed to shake off the approaching cloudiness.
The bath was an ivory clawfoot, but the faucet was a dragon. Violet grinned at it, knowing Victor had selected it for her as a surprise—a fanciful faucet to match her bed frame. Beatrice had already started the water. Violet could smell mint in the salts, and with it, the pressure in her head was fading.
Violet sank gratefully into the water and whimpered when the heat settled into her. It was so hot, it almost hurt, but still felt as though it could be hotter. Beatrice nudged Violet through a full cup of tea that had been doctored with whiskey at Victor’s insistence, and then Violet slipped into her bed and sleep.
She woke to someone asking, “She’s sick?”
In the vaguest of ways, she recalled a discussion over her bed, a man with cold hands who looked into her eyes and touched her forehead. She sat up, pushing back her eye mask. With a gasp, she stared up at Jack, who grinned at her. She sneezed in reply, moaned, and he touched her forehead. “You’ve got a fever, love.”
He held out two pills and another whiskey, with Victor looking on. Violet touched her nose, knowing it was red. No doubt she had bags under her eyes. She had no desire for that cup Jack was waving under her nose. “You’ll need to sleep the day away, I think.”
“You’re here?” she asked stupidly.
“It’s been days, darling,” he said.
She pressed her hand to her forehead and flopped back onto her pile of pillows. Violet tried and failed at shoving the mug away. “What day is it?”
“Thursday.” He grinned at her pitiful self. “How do you feel?”
“Awful.”
His hand was careful on her head as he said, “You do look woeful.”
“You’ve slept for days, you lazy thing,” Denny called from the hallway. “Haven’t you expired from lack of food?”
Violet curled onto her side. Why did she have such an audience when she felt so bad? She shivered and pulled the covers around her neck. “Go away, you fool, Denny. You were sick when I left London. I know you were. This is your fault.”
“Only I feel like a million bucks now, luvie. Now that you’re back to the land of the living, you’ll get well quickly. Eat something. It’ll make the headache better.”
Violet cast a pleading look at Victor, who called for Beatrice and shuffled everyone else out.
“Oh, my lady.”
Violet drank the mug of tea and whiskey, giving into Beatrice’s militant gaze. As Violet did, Beatrice chattered about the new housekeeper who looked just like Hargreaves and the housekeeper’s very proper husband. Victor had apparently called Jack and had him bring down Hargreaves’s family to fill the post of butler and housekeeper.
“No one local would take the positions. Can you imagine?” Beatrice asked as she tucked a warmed brick into the end of Violet’s bed and stoked up the fire. “The gardener is not well-liked, and the few who applied declined the positions when they heard that he was still working here.”
Violet gasped and then her breath caught on a cough. The racking attempt to recover her breath left her curled on her side. Beatrice rubbed Violet’s back until the coughing fit ended.
“…the gardens are lovely, though I haven’t had a chance to explore them at length. They aren’t even the award winners, my lady. As lovely as they are here, there are even nicer gardens in this village.”
Violet focused on her breathing, and when she listened to the girl again, Vi heard, “…and then Mr. Victor rang up Mr. Jack and Mr. Hargreaves. Since Mr. Victor couldn’t find anyone local…”
Violet let the flow of Beatrice’s chatter flow over her and only half-listened.
“I went to the local store to get the vapor rub, my lady. Mr. Victor had Mr. Giles take me when I told him I was going. While I was there, I was fa
ir questioned within an inch of my life. How long we were staying, how much you drink, how rich you were. It was shocking.”
“You loved it.” Violet laughed.
“I did,” Beatrice confessed. “I told them I rarely saw you drink heavily, and they about died, thinking I was lying. Well, I never! The story of Mr. Victor buying this house while intoxicated is town legend, my lady. Nothing I could say would counteract that.”
Violet laughed into her pillow. “It serves him right for being so foolish. Is it a nice village? I only have the vaguest recollection.”
“I’m sure anyone would be happy to live here.”
Violet fell asleep while Beatrice talked. When she woke again, she was alone. Vi slowly sat up, peeked out the window, and saw that the sun was just rising. Had she slept another day?
She sniffed and her nose wasn’t clogged anymore. Violet hesitated to think she might be better, but when she crossed to her bath, her head didn’t pound with each step. She scrubbed her body and realized that she was starving. She stretched out her legs, arms, and back carefully in the bath and then dressed herself. It was spring, but Violet wasn’t quite ready to wear a light pink chiffon dress in fear of catching another chill. Instead, she put on a blouse, a deep green pleated skirt, and a cardigan.
The clock had struck 8:00 a.m. by the time she finished dressing. Surely someone would be up and there would be something to eat? She cleared her throat as she left her room, checking to see if it hurt, and one of the other bedroom doors opened.
Jack smiled at her. “She has risen!” He was dressed fully and looked dapper indeed with his pin-striped grey suit and shiny shoes. He took her hand, looming over her, and she was reminded once again how very large he was. Something of a mountain in human form with penetrating eyes and dark coloring.
“I feel as though I could fly,” Violet confessed, leaning on his arm. She wasn’t quite sure how long it had been since she had eaten, but she longed for a feast.
He laughed as he took her hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss on her knuckles. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with having a chill. “There’s nothing quite like feeling better after being ill. The difference is so astounding that you just might mistake your capacity.”
Violet shot him a condescending look. “Is that your way of saying I should still take a nap today?”
“It is, indeed. You might also wait a few days before you try out the bicycles your brother purchased.”
Violet glanced up at him, taking in his face, and felt as though all must be right again. She was feeling better and her massive Jack had arrived. Violet had become used to having Jack around nearly all the time and discovered that was just how she preferred it.
“This is when I admit that I went straight to bed and have no idea where we might find breakfast.”
Jack’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he led the way without teasing her. She looked around the house with delight. She’d imagined quite the grimmest outcome.
Instead, the wooden floors had been freshened and shone in sunlight that came in through bright windows. The walls were freshly papered and the simple colors set off the paintings Victor had sent down to enliven the walls. To Victor’s amusement, the previous owner had left the family portraits, so Vic had told the clerk to merge the two families on the walls.
“It isn’t so bad,” Violet breathed out, her relief readily apparent.
“I was a bit surprised at how nice it was. I wonder how much was nice to begin with and how much was the fellow you sent down here to sort it out?”
Chapter 3
Violet yawned over her weak tea until Jack dragged her back to her room and told her to nap. Her throat was aching and her eyes were watery when she lay back down. She woke again when someone entered her bedroom.
“Hello, darling.” Victor sat on the edge of her bed. She ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed her eyes. “Are you feeling quite the thing?”
“I feel like a wrung out dishrag.” She twisted a kink out of her back. “I smell like a bag of peppermint candies and sweat. That is delightful, isn’t it? Rather becoming and whatnot. But I do feel better, I suppose. Denny, damn him, was right about eating something.”
Victor flicked her with a pencil and said, “I’ve started a sensational novel without you and realized it’s always you who starts them. I never understood the first part of the book was quite so hard.”
There was a little bit of a whine to Victor’s voice, but Violet shrugged it off. She supposed that she was reading too much into every little thing. She was just irritable from being ill. Vi sniffed to check if her nose was still clear and just kept herself from breaking into a hallelujah chorus when she could breathe.
“Why did you have to import servants? Won’t it rather dispose the locals to dislike us even more?” It was the wrong thing to say. She saw it immediately when his jaw tightened and the usual versions of him she knew—the spaniel and the lion—were displaced by the mule. She sighed and his eyes sharpened on her face.
“Are we so bothered by what a bunch of local…local…yahoos think of us?” Victor’s eyes approached actually being wild. Violet wanted to growl in reply to his expression but told herself to contain herself.
“I—”
“No doubt you could have done better,” he said and then sneezed. “You do everything better. Write our books, run Agatha’s business, keep track of our investments.”
Violet bit her lip. Irritable? Check. Sneezes? Check? Flushed cheeks? She examined him and noted the pale skin with brilliantly red cheeks. She sighed once again but tried and failed to hide her reaction. Sick Victor made rabid rodents seem pleasant.
“Victor…”
“Save it,” he snapped. “If you feel up to it, your lover is here, haunting the halls, waiting for you to come down.”
“Victor…”
“If you don’t distract him,” Victor snarled, “I’ll have to commit a murder to distract him myself. Then there’s Kate, who hasn’t seen you since you disappeared. She has been running the house in your stead. You better hurry getting out of that bed or you’ll miss her. Mrs. Lancaster is disposed to think us a pack of fools and is ready to draw her home.”
Violet winced. She could only imagine how much that would upset healthy Victor, let alone childish, stubborn, sick Victor.
“Even Lila and Denny are past ready for you to appear.”
Violet pressed her lips together as Victor slammed the door. She shouldn’t have said what she had and she’d have apologized immediately, but instead, he’d lashed out.
“It’s just because you’re still getting better,” she told herself as she angrily wiped a tear off of her face. “He didn’t have to be quite so awful.”
Violet wasn’t going to go chasing after the…the…jackass! She was going to take a bath and resolve the issue of her fragrance. She hauled her body out of bed, wincing at the stiffness and added lavender bath oils to the water. She sank into the water, holding herself under until her lungs burned but her eyes had finally stopped shedding.
The dinner gong was going to ring before long, so Violet put on one of her new dresses. It was blush pink with a diamond accent under her chest. As angry as she was with her brother, she left her black pearls and selected a diamond collar and bracelets with diamond bobby pins in her hair. She hesitated before she took a silk wrap. Her dress was sleeveless but not particularly low cut in either in the front or the back. Even still, she wasn’t sure how well she’d last without something to keep her warm.
Violet walked down the stairs and found that she was the first to arrive. She examined the walls, frowning at the oil painting of her and Victor. It was next to a family she’d never seen, but the painter had certainly captured the woman’s sour mouth. Violet raised a silent, imaginary glass to the artist and wondered if she could get him to do one of Victor.
Maybe the painter could somehow perfectly encapsulate the stubborn, nasty version of him that Violet knew would
stick around until he finally got over his illness. Speak of the devil! He walked into the room a moment later. She scowled at him, and he frowned at her. Their dogs went running through the room a moment later before Beatrice chased in after them. They both turned to her, and the twins’ expressions made her pale. She grabbed each dog under their belly, curtsied, and fled without a word.
“You’ve upset my maid.” Violet straightened the picture of the sour old woman and decided it was going home with her. She’d hang it outside of her bedroom as a warning to her brother to not bring out her inner devil.
Jack walked into the room a moment later and found the twins glaring. “Ahh…”
They turned on him and he held out his hands in surrender and sat, crossing his legs.
“I suppose you want a drink?” Victor demanded with a sneeze.
Jack glanced at Violet, who walked to the window and stared out. It was dark and there was nothing to see but the reflection of her brother pouring a gin-heavy cocktail.
“I think I’ll pass,” Jack said cheerily. The cheer was forced and nearly as awkward as the anger springing between the twins.
“What’s this I hear about a gardener who isn’t safe around Beatrice?” Violet knew she shouldn’t ask the question as she formed it. This time, however, she did it deliberately.
Victor turned on Violet and she smirked back. His gaze narrowed on hers, and she sat, slowly crossing her ankles. She lifted one brow and waited. His cheeks were ruddy, and she guessed he was running a fever. He was such a child about being ill. At least Violet could be counted on to hide away until she was feeling better. Victor, on the other hand, turned into a man-monster, making everyone around him miserable.
Kate entered next and with her Lila and Denny. Kate was wearing a black beaded gown that was divine with her bright eyes and clever smile. Violet winced at her arrival. Kate was about to meet the worst version of Victor, and Violet had wound him up.
“Hullo, Kate.” Because Vi was feeling her own inner-monster, she added, “I’ve hauled myself out of bed to take the burden of running the house off of you.”