by Lavinia Kent
He considered. He had never thought about the issue before. She was correct that the husband’s wishes came first in all the couples he could think of. Even with Tristan and Marguerite it was Tristan who made the actual decisions—although he’d always suspected that Marguerite guided those decisions far more than his brother would ever admit.
Violet did not work that way. She said what she wanted. She did not hint and persuade.
“I would try to never override your desires,” he finally answered.
“I do believe you, but it is too much to risk. And”—she finally turned to face him—“we are avoiding our conversation of this morning.”
Yes, that was Violet, face the problem square on.
“I am not seeking to avoid it, merely trying to follow your wishes,” he said.
“And how do you know my wishes if we do not talk?”
“I took your flight to the garden to be ample illustration of your desires.” He reached over and took her hand, his thumb stroking the back of her palm.
She turned to face him. He could see the indecision in her eyes. “I fled more than words.”
“I know. Does it hurt so much to see him, to see my nephew?”
“More than I expected,” she replied. “But it is not so much him as them. I have seen many families over the years and after the first months the pain grew numb and then I started to ignore it. I was not prepared for how tightly it would twist my gut to see Marguerite so happy.
“I do feel joy for her. I really do. And your brother. He will treat them well and cherish them. He deserves all he has been blessed with, but—”
“It still cuts deeply,” he finished her sentence. “I am sure that after last night you are more emotionally involved than you have ever been before.”
“That is true,” she said. “But I think you are as much at fault.”
“I? I do not understand.” His grip tightened about her fingers.
“You asked before how I pictured my future? I have avoided doing so before now. I chose to live in the moment and to make each moment as perfect as I could. You asked questions that made me look ahead.”
“I should say I am sorry, but I cannot. I want you to think of the future, of a future with me.”
She pulled her hand from his and pressed it with its mate upon her lap. “How can you still want that? It would be so unfair to you. You deserve everything that your brother has.”
“We don’t always get what we deserve, good or bad.” He shifted sideways to face her more fully. “What is unfair to me is a life without you, Violet. I can accept a life without children. I cannot accept a life without you.”
“And if you have to?” She stared fully into his eyes as she asked the question. “What will you do if you don’t have me?”
“I will go on,” he answered. “We both seem to be good at that, but there is a difference between going on and living.”
She dropped her glance. “You are correct about that. You have never asked of my second husband. It’s strange but nobody ever does. They talk of Dratton and Carrington, but never of Milber. Living with him was going on.”
She tapped her fingers together. “I was still under-age when Dratton died. My brother told me he needed me to marry Milber. There were debts that had to be paid. My parents had apparently left the whole estate a mess.
“I did resist. I had not even finished my mourning. I had no desire to marry again and certainly not Milber. He did not remind me of my grandfather in the least.”
“Even if you were not of age, surely your brother could not have forced you?” he asked.
“There are many types of force. I do not even know if Masters realized how much pressure he placed on me. He was only a couple years older than I, and I think even less experienced, for all his pretense of maturity. I knew that it was not only his well-being but Isabella’s that hung in the balance. In the end I lacked the means to resist him. I had little money of my own and no other home to return to. In retrospect, I am sure Dratton’s nephew would have taken me in, and perhaps he would even have taken in Isabella, but at the time I felt so alone.”
Peter began to understand her deep need for control. It was easy to imagine Violet at eighteen, still grief-stricken from the loss of her son, feeling forced into another loveless marriage. “I wish I could have been there for you.”
“I believe you were eleven at the time,” she said. “I doubt you could have been of assistance.”
“I would have offered you my allowance and snuck you into the nursery.”
She smiled at that and answered seriously. “You probably would have. I am not sure I would have cared for survival on milk toast and biscuits.”
“You never tasted Cook’s biscuits.”
They were both quiet then for a while. Violet’s hand snuck out and found Peter’s again. They sat, their faces turned up to the sun.
“Is there more? I did not mean to change the subject,” Peter asked when enough time had passed.
“Not really. I will say only that I was glad when he died, very glad. It was my marriage to him that made me value Carrington’s warmth and friendship so greatly. I know that society thought it odd, to put it in the best light possible, when I chose to marry another much older man, but it was one of the best things I have done. He gave me safety and security and I gave him joy.”
“I have never doubted that you cared for each other.”
“You mean you never thought I married him for the tidy fortune he left me?” she asked.
“No, I certainly never—”
“Well, I did. It was actually part of our agreement. He understood what the money would do for me far better than I did. It gave me the freedom to become myself.”
Peter brought her hands to his lips and kissed them gently. “Then I cannot blame you for it. I rather like who you have become.”
She batted her lashes at him and smiled coquettishly. “Do you, now?”
It was amazing how swiftly a mood could shift. In the time it took to draw a breath, seriousness was gone and play and passion moved in.
“You know I do.” He drew her thumb into his mouth and sucked.
“I have always enjoyed a good garden.”
He ran a finger across her cheek, down her neck, and along the edging of her bodice. “Let’s see if I can make you enjoy it even more.”
Sex certainly helped make things better. Violet brushed leaves from her hair and shook the dirt and wrinkles from her skirt. She turned and smiled at her lover.
Peter was that again. Her lover.
“It is time we went back to the house,” she supposed.
“Unfortunately, I am sure you are right.” He kissed her hand again.
“Stop that. Look what happened the last time you did that.”
He drew her thumb into his mouth.
She pulled her hand away and slapped at his chest. “I am hungry and your brother will wonder at us.”
“I doubt he will wonder much. I am sure he will guess, and guess right.”
She smiled at him again. “You are so bad.”
Hand-in-hand they walked out of the maze. When the house came into sight they stopped and glanced at each other and then, hands still clasped tight, continued to walk.
It should have gotten easier. Violet sat across from Marguerite—and the baby. After three days it should be easier. Even the readiness with which Tristan had accepted her relationship with Peter had not alleviated the situation.
She had known for more than ten years that it was unlikely she would ever have children.
It should not still hurt.
It did.
She smiled at Marguerite. She said all the right things. She’d even held the baby, twice. It had been soft and sweet and so dreadfully wonderful.
Peter came up behind her and began softly kneading her shoulders. She could remember Tristan doing the same thing to Marguerite. She rolled her head back into his touch. It felt so good.
“I was hoping yo
u’d agree to be little William’s godmother,” Marguerite said, drawing Violet’s attention.
“I know, forgive me for telling you this, that Tristan intends to ask Peter, and I thought it would be perfect to have both of you stand up for him.” She smiled at them knowingly as she gently bounced the baby against her breast.
“I—I—I need to get back to Town. I have business.” Violet had never stammered before and now it felt that each word must be pushed out of her.
“Oh well, the christening won’t be for at least a month, probably more,” Marguerite answered back.
“And we will hold it in London. I was thinking about sometime in the fall when we can share our blessings with all our friends.”
Peter’s grip had become stronger. She could feel him trying to give her strength. “I’ll have to see. I am not sure what my plans will be.”
Marguerite had stopped smiling, and Violet could sense her confusion and disappointment. “If you don’t want to—”
“Of course I want to.” What else could she say? She had helped deliver her best friend’s child. It would be impossible to say no and equally impossible to take on the responsibility.
“I had talked of taking Violet to the continent in the fall. She’s never been away,” Peter spoke up. His grip was almost painful.
Violet shrugged her shoulders and he loosened his grasp.
“You make it sound like not leaving England is a sickness. I’ve certainly never gone abroad.” Marguerite was not to be deterred. “And we could always hold the christening earlier or later if necessary. Christmas might be nice. It is always a good time for family.”
How could Marguerite speak of family with such warmth? Violet knew her childhood had not been easy. Marguerite had a mother who sent children, and many adults, fleeing in terror.
“I am not sure when we would be back.” Peter was still trying to be her protector. Surely after their conversation he realized she might not want him planning her life. Only it did feel nice. It made her warm and safe in a moment when she wanted to run.
She reached up and squeezed his hand. “I think Christmas would be wonderful.” She looked up and met Peter’s gaze. “I am sure by then we will be back.” And I’ll be ready. Violet hoped Peter could read the second thought in her eyes.
“If that’s what you want we will certainly be home for Christmas.” Peter’s eyes crinkled in reassurance.
“It’s settled then.” Marguerite was all grins. “Now I just have to let Tristan know what he’s decided.”
“What he’s decided?” Violet asked, knowing confusion sounded in her voice.
“Yes. He doesn’t always understand what decisions he’s made until we talk.” Marguerite added a giggle to the grin. She bent over and kissed the baby on his head.
Violet closed her eyes. “I am feeling a little tired. Perhaps I should rest. And, Marguerite, I did mean what I said about needing to return to Town. I’ve delayed too long already. I left several matters undecided when I received your urgent message.” She pushed up from her chair.
“I would hate to hold you back if there are matters that need your attention. I do appreciate all you have done for me, for us.” She kissed the baby again.
“May I walk you to your chamber?” Peter took Violet’s arm and threaded it through his own.
“Certainly.” Violet followed him from the room.
Once they were in the hall he turned to her and asked, “Do you really need to go?”
“Yes, I think I do.” She placed her hand over his and squeezed it softly.
“I do understand.”
When they reached her door he brought her hand to his lips and placed a sweet kiss upon her palm.
“Peter,” she said as she eased through the door. “I do want you to know that I am thinking about what I want for the rest of my life, and I am considering you and what you want. I am making no promises, but I did want you to know that I am thinking.” She closed the door behind her.
Chapter 11
Her staff had taken the knocker off the door. Violet considered this subtle signal of her absence and smiled. It was wonderful to be home, wonderful to be returning to a place that ran the way she wanted without her ever even having to express a single desire.
She sighed. It was even more wonderful that if she left the knocker down for a day or two nobody would know. She could have time to consider how to manage Ian and Struthers—and Peter. The first two should not be difficult; neither one seemed the type to continue a lost battle.
With Peter, however, she still didn’t know what she wanted, which made it difficult to decide how to proceed.
At least she would have time and space. She said a small thank-you prayer for her porter who had undoubtedly removed the knocker himself.
Peace and quiet. She needed them.
She hummed softly to herself as she entered the house. It was good to be home. She breathed deeply, lemon oil, beeswax, fresh flowers—perhaps the scent of fresh bread from the kitchen.
She’d left orders that her home was always to be kept as if she might be arriving at any moment. Extravagant, yes, but there was nothing more wonderful than arriving home from a trip and instantly being surrounded by comfort.
Lazily, she stretched and headed for the stairs. She might even take a nap. What could be more delicious than a nap in her own bed on a sunny afternoon, safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be disturbed?
There was a clatter at the top of the stairs.
She glanced up.
Isabella. What was her sister doing here? And why did she suddenly look so relieved?
“Violet, I am so glad you’re home. I almost came after you. You won’t believe what has happened.” Isabella scurried down the steps and threw herself into Violet’s arms.
“Calm down, dearest.” Violet caught hold of the flurry that was her sister. “What is it? Has the dressmaker said your new gowns won’t be ready in time? Or perhaps you have a new beau and he forgot to send you flowers? I am sure it can’t be that bad.”
Isabella pulled away and began to pace, her movements sharp and abrupt. “No, you are wrong. It could not be worse. Masters has found me a husband.”
“I thought that was what you wanted,” Violet soothed.
“But you should see who he’s chosen. It really could not be worse.” A hysterical edge had crept into Isabella’s voice.
A knot formed in Violet’s belly. For a moment she felt she had stepped back in time. Masters could not have done it again. Her brother could not be so misguided. “Tell me who.”
“Foxworthy. Colonel Foxworthy,” Isabella moaned.
“He should be named Toadworthy. He is nothing but a big, fat toad.”
Violet wanted to contradict her sister, to tell her it was rude to make such comments. But, unfortunately, her sister was correct. Foxworthy was a big, fat toad, in action as well as appearance. Violet shuddered as she remembered the lascivious comments he had made to her after Carrington’s death. He’d seemed to believe she’d consider herself blessed to welcome him into her bed.
She drew a deep breath. She must be calm. Isabella was not she. Isabella was not without defenders. Violet would never permit her to marry somebody like Foxworthy. She had been ready to protect Isabella from choosing an unworthy husband on her own, could Violet do any less now that Masters was attempting to make the decision?
She needed more information. Masters never acted without reason. He would have thought carefully before reaching such a decision. She needed to understand what had driven him to such a choice.
She took a second breath. “Come into the parlor and I’ll call for tea. You look in need of sustenance.”
Violet moved ahead of her sister and led her into the bright, sunny room. It was not Isabella who needed the tea. A slow, deep pain had taken residence in Violet’s temple. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined herself curled in her bed, lavender-scented sheets drawn tightly about her.
She allowed herself on
e moment to dream.
Then she opened her eyes and stared at her sister. “Tell me everything. Begin with why you seem to be hiding in my house. I know Masters would never have allowed you to come to me. He knows too well what my opinion of this matter would be.”
“He thinks I am at Annie’s, or at least he did,” Isabella replied. “When I indicated I would agree to marry Foxworthy he agreed I could spend a few days with my best friend to begin planning the wedding. He went to check on me two days ago. Annie said I was not feeling well and could not see him.”
“You agreed to the wedding?” Violet asked, skipping to the most important fact.
“Not quite. That was the mastery of my plan, I even discussed it with Lady Smythe-Burke. She thought it a most masterful idea.” Isabella’s fingers twisted in intricate patterns betraying the pretend calm of her voice. “If Masters thought I would agree he would let me go, and then if he couldn’t find me I could not actually agree. Until I say I’ll marry Foxworthy it can’t actually be binding.”
Violet had her own suspicions of just how binding Masters and Foxworthy would find any agreement. What was Lady Smythe-Burke thinking, advising Isabella to continue with this foolishness? Violet didn’t know Foxworthy well, but once Masters made a decision he became immovable.
If he found Isabella now, she’d be wed as soon as the license could be produced. Masters would not trust any delay now he had suspicions that Isabella had escaped him once.
Violet arranged her skirts carefully and sat. Calm. She must stay calm. “Does he know you are actually missing? If so, I am surprised Masters hasn’t found you here. I would have thought it the first place he’d look.”
“He did come, right after talking to Annie.” Isabella threw herself into the facing chair, her foot beating a rapid rhythm on the floor. “He demanded to see you, but when you weren’t here it didn’t occur to him to ask for me. I don’t know if your servants would have hidden me or not, but he never asked. At first I thought I was lucky you were out, but then I didn’t know what to do. I’ll die if I have to marry Foxworthy.”