And then the sweet joy of fulfillment.
Max had been passionate. He’d been tender, and he’d been loving.
She’d felt loved, and that was what Violet had wanted. She’d not known if it was possible for her heart and soul to soak up another’s emotion and to actually feel loved. She wouldn’t question too hard whether that was manufactured on her part because it didn’t matter. She didn’t have to question whether Max would be around beyond next week, because she knew he wouldn’t.
But he’d made her feel loved and cherished and desired last night, and that was all she’d required.
In a little over a week, Lord Bainbridge would move in to fulfil his role, and Violet would continue to have a roof over her head and good food to eat.
And really, wasn’t that what life was all about?
Existing with the minimum amount of pain.
She rose and dressed in a plain, no-longer-fashionable striped day dress then went downstairs. Several of the girls, their hair unkempt, their eyes lacklustre with weariness, were sewing at the refectory table in the scullery. The modish gowns provided for the evenings were always carefully fitted and chosen, but a girl had to remodel her daywear from the secondhand offerings Madame kept in a wardrobe in the box room.
“That’s a nice dress, Charity,” she said, pouring herself tea from the teapot on the sideboard. “Did your young man buy it for you?”
Of all the girls at Madame Chambon’s, Violet thought Charity the sweetest. The other girls obviously thought the same, for none of them regarded her with envy even though she was clearly the most fortunate of them all.
Violet could not imagine how wonderful it would be to have the loyalty of a man who was simply waiting until he was in a position to make her his own.
“Hugo has to go away.”
As Violet seated herself at the table, a little distance away, she saw the girl’s eyes were red-rimmed. “Going away?” Charity surely didn’t mean for more than a few weeks. Charity and Hugo were simply biding their time until the young man came into his inheritance. “He’ll be back,” she said comfortingly, thinking of Max who really was going away forever. Or as close to that as made no difference. Her heart squeezed with pain.
“His father is sending him away to run his tea plantation in some faraway place across the sea I don’t even want to think about.” Charity put down her dress and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know that I’ll ever see him again.”
“Good lord!” Violet didn’t know what to say. “I…I’m so sorry.”
Charity managed a wan smile. “I shouldn’t have expected the happy ending. Your young man is leaving in less than a week, too. But you shall be married, and I shall be your bridesmaid and that will make me very happy, Violet. I need something to cheer me. Something to look forward to.”
“You know it’s only a sham wedding to please his aunt.” The words stuck in Violet’s throat.
“I know. But you’ll have that memory to cherish for the rest of your life.” Charity rethreaded her needle and picked up her sewing again. “You never thought it was anything else.”
Violet suspected Charity had harboured secret hopes that her fairy tale might have had an unconventional ending. That the baronet’s son might really have wed the girl from the gutter.
She poured more tea, spilling some onto the threadbare tablecloth. She didn’t bother to wipe it away. What was the point? Some stains were indelible. And even if the cloth was laundered, it would only gather more filth. Madame’s concern for appearance was only skin-deep. As long as her girls looked their best for their gentleman admirers when they had their pocket books at the ready, she cared little for the rest.
“I will treasure the memory, Charity. Both Max and his aunt have been so very kind.” She stood up suddenly, her voice choking on the words, and instantly Charity dropped her sewing and went to her. “Violet, I’m so sorry. I was thinking only of myself. Of course, you must have hoped for more. Don’t we all?”
Violet shook her head. “I’ve learnt too much to hope that.” She heaved in a breath, stepping blindly towards the door. She mustn’t think so much of herself. She’d accepted the arrangement. There was no point in wishing for what she’d known could never happen. “Why is Hugo allowing his family to send him away?” she asked, stopping and forcing herself to focus on her friend’s distress rather than her own.
Charity stared at the floor. At the two threadbare hems of the day dresses no gentleman would ever see them wear. Violet thought what a dispirited pair they must look and how no gentleman would find either of them the least bit entrancing in the morning gloom.
“He lost a lot of money at the card table.” When she raised her eyes, she looked ashamed. “Hugo doesn’t gamble as a rule. But he was put under a lot of pressure, and he believed he couldn’t lose.” She shrugged. “We all make mistakes and I forgive him but…” She let out a sob. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the grief of losing him.” She put out her hand and gripped Violet’s arm. “You’re so strong, Violet. An inspiration. Truly you are. When Lord Belvedere raises your veil to kiss you in the church, I shall be the one to cry. You’re so much stronger than I could ever be.”
Chapter 11
With his hands thrust into his pockets and his shoulders hunched, Max headed into the wind at Mabel’s side. A stiff breeze was blowing, whipping the trees and sending shivers down his spine. It was not walking weather but clearly, Mabel had something important to say.
Which Max was dreading.
Beneath a spreading oak, they stopped, and Max stared morosely into the murky river, wondering what dreadful thing Mabel would say.
“Well, here we are, alone at last, Max. You must be very angry with me.”
He shrugged, glancing at her. “I wasn’t sure what to think, to tell you the truth.”
“Your grandfather was certainly angry, as was mine.” She shifted a little so that she was standing right before him.
Max stared down at her, meeting her sparkling green eyes in her plain, pale face.
Her mouth turned up pertly. “Do you want to kiss me?”
The last thing he expected was her trill of laughter a second later. “Oh, Max! What a dreadful actor you are. You should have seen the horror on your face. Now I know I did the right thing by leaving you standing at the altar. I just promised our grandfathers that I would do my best to patch things up between us.” She rubbed her hands together to warm them in the cold. “I swore I would do all in my power to salvage whatever might be salvaged, and now I can confidently report back that nothing can be.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude or hurt your feelings,” Max said gruffly. He didn’t like being called a terrible actor when everything he’d been doing the past two weeks had been acting.
“Max, I’ve known you almost my whole life, and you are such a dear friend. I’d do anything for you, you know that, except make you marry me—even though you’re probably the only offer I’m ever going to get.”
“Now, don’t say that, Mabel,” he protested.
“Well, I’ve hardly garnered much interest from other male quarters, and we both can say quite honestly that I am no oil painting.”
“You have the most beautiful eyes, and you’re the kindest person, Mabel.” He meant it. “I don’t want to see you moulder away and bear the brunt of your grandfather’s ire.” Nor did he want to marry Mabel.
“Neither do I, but worse would be living with a man who is in love with somebody else.” Mabel put up her hand to stop him speaking. “Your aunt spilled the beans before I’d even stated the reason for my visit. Poor Miss Thistlethwaite never looked more awkward in her life than when her brother started discussing the possibility of a match between us going ahead after all. So, do tell, Max; what does she look like, and how has she managed to capture your heart when no one else could?”
“I wouldn’t say no one else—”
“Lord Max, you’re notoriously hard to please. She must be very special indeed. What�
��s her name?”
“Violet Lilywhite, and you’re right; she is very special.” Max found himself smiling just to speak of her. “She’s very strong and brave, and she’s also the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She deserves someone who will give her only the best.” He couldn’t look Mabel in the eye as he added, “I’m not sure I’m that man, though.”
“Well, you’ll have to do what is required if she’s already agreed to marry you.” Mabel looked fit to burst with excitement. “So, clearly you’ve put aside that concern. Miss Thistlethwaite told me you’re eloping. Don’t worry; I’ve promised not to say a word, but it is rather thrilling news, you know, and not at all what I expected of you. Except that, now I think about it, you would fall for a woman who was beautiful, adventurous, and who needed you.” She bit her lip. “Funny, when I put it like that, I’m none of those things, so I really should have come to my senses long before. But you, Max, you’ve been in love with her for some time, I gather? So, my non-appearance in church finally gave you the impetus to act and to follow your heart. Good on you, I say!”
Max ran a finger around the inside of his collar which was feeling far too tight. It seemed wrong to meet Mabel’s enthusiasm with more lies. And yet, everything he’d said about Violet was true.
Mabel squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry; your grandfather won’t know a thing until it’s all gone ahead, and you and Miss Lilywhite are safely married.” She put her head on one side and considered her childhood friend. “Do you know, Max, you look far too handsome in that unreliable, scoundrel-ish way that so many women do seem to fall for, and yet you are the most noble, honourable, dutiful man I know. Miss Lilywhite is a very lucky young woman.”
A squall of light rain pelted them amidst the leaves carried on the breeze and they both turned back to the house.
Max suddenly felt very humbled. “You know, Mabel, you deserve better. I hope you will be happy.”
Her smile was confident as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they trod the damp grass up the small hill to the neat Georgian brick house where so much speculation would no doubt be going on inside. “I’m much happier now that I know I did the right thing,” she said.
Now back in her neat black skirt and bodice, Violet felt a different person as she trod the stairs at Miss Thistlethwaite’s side for the final fitting of her wedding gown.
While they waited for Madame to emerge from the workroom beyond, the older lady could barely contain her excitement. “You will look radiant, my dear! I can’t wait to see Max’s face when he beholds his beloved looking like the answer to his dreams.” Her hacking cough stopped Violet from telling her fondly what a dear, sentimental creature she was.
With some concern, she accompanied Madame to the changing room to be helped out of her garments and into the crackling ivory silk creation with its shimmering trimmings and its exquisite lace veil.
Even she gasped as she stepped in front of the looking glass in the large, lofty viewing chamber while everyone gazed on.
“My dear girl, I’ve never seen such a sight for sore eyes!” Miss Thistlethwaite exclaimed. “You are even more the beauty. How I shall miss you.” She brightened. “However, it’ll only be for a few short months. I am determined I shall still be around when you return from your wedding tour so I can hear how you enjoyed Venice. How I longed to visit Venice when I had the strength.”
Violet managed a smile. How she hated this escalation of lies. What had started out as a means of gratifying Max’s beloved aunt was turning into an increasingly cumbersome charade.
Unable to answer, she kept her gaze trained on her reflection. The intricately embroidered and pleated train was a dashing counterpoint to the low, lace-edged neckline, while the sculpted bodice with its 19-inch waist would be a reminder of Violet’s heyday. She had to regard the striking image before her in these terms for Max was not the one being pleased here. This was an extravagant show for Miss Thistlethwaite’s benefit.
Funded by Miss Thistlethwaite.
“You’ve become very dear to me these past two weeks.” The old lady raised her hand and touched Violet’s cheek while she supported herself with the other on one of the bolts of fabric lining the walls of the room. “You’re a good girl, Violet, and Max deserves you. I know you’ll be happy together just as I knew in my heart that he and Mabel weren’t suited, for all that I love Mabel like a daughter.”
She coughed again, and Violet regarded her with concern. Miss Thistlethwaite had taken Violet on trust. Out of the goodness of her heart, she had transformed Violet, believing only the best.
And all the while the old lady was dying.
Violet closed her eyes while acid stung the back of her throat, and a wave of self-revulsion powered through her. No, Max didn’t deserve her, and Miss Thistlethwaite certainly didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of by a money-grubbing street girl.
Violet could hardly describe herself any better than that.
“Why, Violet; you’re as sentimental as I am. Look at those tears in your eyes.” Miss Thistlethwaite sent her a watery smile. “I will have to decide whether you are crying for happiness at becoming Max’s wife or pleasure at seeing how beautiful you look.”
The irony of her pronouncement was too much for Violet. With as much dignity as she could muster, she practised an elegant sashay about the room while she struggled for words.
“I don’t deserve any of this, Miss Thistlethwaite,” she said eventually, when she’d come to a stop in front of her benefactress. Helplessly, she skimmed her sides with her hands, delicately touching her fine veil with its rich edging of lace. “You have been so very kind and there’s no way I can repay you—”
“Please, Violet; I did nothing that wasn’t to please myself. I’m only glad that I’ve been able to bring happiness to those I love most in this life.”
She looked so distressed that Violet knew it was pointless to go on. In two days, she and Max would meet secretly at the little church, where his aunt and Charity would be waiting as witnesses, for the marriage that was designed solely to give Max his freedom, and his dying aunt a moment of pleasure and relief.
Violet felt very burdened by her secret knowledge though it was some small consolation that, in truth, Miss Thistlethwaite could hardly take her money to the next world. Nor was Violet benefitting financially from her largesse, she had to remind herself. She’d not own the beautiful gown. Much as she might like to possess such an exquisite garment, it would feel like stealing if she secreted it away with her to Madame Chambon’s. For where else could she keep it? Madame Chambon would purloin it the moment Violet brought it inside, and she could hardly ask Lord Bainbridge to safeguard it for her until such time as he’d formalised the offer he’d agreed to. No, not even then, for Violet needed her own little bower to keep her things safe.
Dear lord, it was all so sordid.
“Please, Violet; you are happy, aren’t you?”
Miss Thistlethwaite’s anxious question intruded and Violet turned, forcing her eyes to shine with some emotion that would give her the comfort she needed.
“I am happy. Who could not be wild with happiness if they were to be marrying Max before the week is out? I must be patient, mustn’t I, Miss Thistlethwaite. I suppose I keep worrying that something will go wrong.”
Immediately, she wished she hadn’t said it for that only put the fear into Miss Thistlethwaite’s own delicate breast.
“Don’t you fear on that score, my dear. If my brother got wind of this, I would fight for your happiness as I never did for my own. I’m no longer the timid dormouse I once was but a fearsome proponent of the love match, believe me!”
Violet smiled at her fierce pronouncement, and was still smiling as she and Miss Thistlethwaite made their companionable way home, enjoying the fine weather to take a detour through Green Park.
Her past fears dissipated with the grey clouds that had accompanied them to her fitting. Miss Thistlethwaite truly did find real pleasure in her lit
tle exercise and, as long as it was sanctioned by Max, what did it matter that they wouldn’t go ahead with it? Violet had done nothing wrong other than agree to what Max had proposed.
Max. She tried to banish his image from her mind.
“Just stop a moment. I think I’ll sit down for a bit.”
Violet turned and saw that Miss Thistlethwaite was holding her side; her breathing laboured. She helped settle the old lady on a park bench. Couples strolled companionably through the park; children played by the water’s edge, and ducks quacked nearby. Everyone looked supremely contented as Violet scanned her fellow park dwellers. However, even as the old lady got her breath, her grey pallor was troubling.
“Home is less than five minutes’ walk. I’ll be right as rain in just a minute.” Miss Thistlethwaite tried but failed to sound light and unconcerned.
Violet heard the clock chiming the hour, and her anxiety grew. She needed to be back at Madame Chambon’s now, and Madame was a stickler for timekeeping.
Miss Thistlethwaite misinterpreted the extent of Violet’s concern. “You have your work to go to, my dear. Just leave me. I can make my own way back. Truly I can.”
It was tempting. Violet hesitated as she weighed up whether to make her way directly towards Soho or to see Miss Thistlethwaite all the way home. But the old lady’s hacking cough made up her mind.
“I’m going to fetch someone,” she said, panicked suddenly by the flecks of blood she saw on Miss Thistlethwaite’s handkerchief. The sun had gone behind a cloud, and the temperature had plummeted in just the past five minutes. She wished she had something warmer to put around Miss Thistlethwaite’s shoulders.
Hurrying towards the crescent of townhouses where Max lived and that was, fortunately, only a few blocks away, she felt her own heartbeat begin to race. Max would hardly be pleased if she showed her face in his respectable drawing room for what he might consider a flimsy excuse.
Fair Cyprians of London Boxset: Books 1-5: Five passionate Victorian Romances Page 57