He put up a hand for silence, as Lord Bainbridge and Violet both opened their mouths to speak.
Lord Bainbridge spoke anyway. “You are really so puffed up with your own arrogance that you believe your charm will win Violet over so you can drag her across the seas with you as your—”
“Lord Bainbridge, please,” Violet murmured with a speaking look in the direction of her sister.
Max rolled his eyes and sent a despairing look at his lordship, then Emily, then finally, Violet.
“I say, Violet, I’m sorry about this. My preference would have been to have spoken in private and to have elicited your wishes, but the fact is I’m going to have to declare myself in front of a crowd, and that does not sit comfortably with me. Nevertheless, here’s my offer.”
Violet put her hand to her mouth. He was about to declare himself. To say the words that would confirm exactly what he thought of her; how much he valued her. Was she to go as his servant or someone else’s? Did he want her to be his mistress as he explored exciting new frontiers, or did he plan to engage her in some other capacity?
The pounding in her chest was so intense she thought she’d be ill. Her nerves felt frayed to breaking point with the anticipation.
She didn’t care what his offer was—she’d accept.
“You’re a fool if you think you can take him at his word.” Lord Bainbridge’s snarl sounded an ugly note in the silence.
Violet gave a short laugh. “If there’s one thing I know about Max it’s that I can take him at his word. He’s never been anything but honest and transparent.”
“I like that.” Max beamed at her, then touched his heart. “It gives me great hope, then, for a favourable answer when I ask you to throw aside everything here so you can marry me and come to South Africa.” He glanced at Emily. “Together with your sister, of course.”
“Marry you?” The world rushed at Violet like a storm engulfing her senses. She managed to remain standing, but Max’s face came in and out of focus, his smile ever more charming, while Lord Bainbridge’s expression grew increasingly malevolent.
“You believe him? A sham marriage? That’s all it would be and you’re a fool if you think otherwise, Violet. Men like Max don’t marry their—”
“Have you forgotten the company you are in,” Max said warningly, looking at Emily who stared, wide-eyed, between them. “And no, sir, it would not be a sham marriage. Violet is clever enough to know the difference. If she had any doubt, I’d be willing to do what it took to prove it to her.” He took a step forward and his fingers closed over Violet’s. He seemed to have eyes only for her. “I feel like I’ve been given a second chance. I was supposed to have been on board the Charlotte yesterday, but when I woke up this morning, all I could think of was you and how terribly sad I was that I’d not see you again. It’s what prompted me to go to the village where your grandmother lives, and when I saw Emily, I knew in my heart I couldn’t leave you behind.” He squeezed Violet’s hand and bent over to elicit Emily’s opinion.
“Do you think Violet should say yes? She hasn’t said anything, you know, and I’m growing a little concerned that she doesn’t think my offer is a very enticing one.”
Violet swallowed. It was all too marvellous to be real. She didn’t trust herself to speak in case the act of opening her mouth to say the words would prove it was all a dream.
“You want me to be your wife?” she repeated, her voice barely a thread of sound.
“Yes; my legal, wedded, honestly acquired, wife. My beautiful bride.” Max touched Violet’s cheek lightly, then gave a self-conscious laugh. “Lord, I really didn’t think I’d have to propose in front of…of Bainbridge here.”
“But it is his house, and there isn’t much time,” Violet whispered.
Max burst out laughing. “Exactly right! You do see matters quite as they are, and I think I shall find that exceedingly refreshing in the years to come.” He frowned. “That is, if you do choose to marry me.”
He’d said it too many times now for her not to believe him. Bainbridge had opened his mouth to utter some-no-doubt-odious remark, but Violet got in first.
“I would love to marry you, Max. Whenever and wherever you think it appropriate.” An incredulous laugh escaped her. This couldn’t be real. First Emily and now…this.
“I’m so glad you said yes, Violet!” Emily was clapping her hands, her little face coloured by excitement. “For a moment I wasn’t sure, and Max is quite the nicest man. I’d much rather live with him than Grandmama.”
Lord Bainbridge grunted. “It appears I’m superfluous.” He sounded more bemused than vindictive, which was what Violet had expected. Perhaps he knew when he’d lost the fight. “And I’d prefer that you not continue this conversation in my house.” With a curt nod, he stepped aside and indicated the door. “I hadn’t thought you so credulous, my dear. Belvedere speaks of marriage, yet I have no idea how that can be achieved when there’s no time for the banns to be called, for one thing, and certainly enough family opposition to sink a ship.”
“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 circumstanc
es, 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 smil
ed 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.
Fair Cyprians of London Boxset: Books 1-5: Five passionate Victorian Romances Page 63