"Your obscene wealth, for one," Iris laughed, though she quickly stopped herself when she saw her brother's downcast expression. "You are a wonderful man, Jack; kind, patient, amusing. There are any number of platitudes I could offer you, and they would all be true."
"Thank you, Iris," Jack grinned, "I don't know why, but tonight I feel especially like a great, giant lummox."
"Oh, there's nothing wrong with being large, brother dear," Iris twinkled, "Most women prefer it. I wonder how we might highlight it to your advantage tonight? Perhaps I might bribe one of the ushers to start a brawl and have someone break a chair over your back. That ought to be impressive."
As ever, Jack was not quite certain if his sister was jesting or deadly serious.
"I would suggest that we pay a footpad to stage an attempt to kidnap Miss Havisham as she exits," Iris continued, deadpan, "But then I rather fear that Lady Havisham would beat you to the rescue with her trusty cane, and that would not be impressive, now, would it?"
"Er, no," Jack replied, hoping to end the conversation before Iris dreamed up another scheme that she might actually think to act upon, "Perhaps we might forgo any tricks tonight, Iris. I might try to impress Miss Havisham the old fashioned way."
"What a wonderful idea," Iris agreed, leaning across the carriage to pat her brother's hand, "Just be you, and you shall win her heart. Though try not to scowl at her, as you do everyone else."
"I do not scowl," Jack objected, scowling across at her before quickly re-affixing his expression.
The carriage then drew up outside the Haymarket, and there was no more time for talking. Orsino exited first when the footman opened the door, and he then helped Iris down.
A great crush of people thronged around the entrance, and despite Jack's earlier promise not to scowl, he adopted the mien of the Duke of Thunder, as he escorted Iris through the crowds. People shrank back, as he made his way toward the door, and Jack was not certain, but he could have sworn he heard a small child scream.
"Well," Iris said with a laugh as they entered the elegant foyer, "I can't say there are not some advantages to having the tallest man in England as one's brother. Oh, look, there they are!"
Iris let out a cry, as she spotted Violet and Lady Havisham, standing by the steps. Several heads turned to see what was going on, and once they sighted Jack, a ripple of whispers filled the room.
Lud; Jack bit back a sigh, he had hoped that no one would spot him on his mission. He did not wish for the papers to be filled with gossip about the evening, both for Violet's sake, and his own.
Montague was bound to find the whole thing terribly amusing, and while Jack could usually withstand his friend's ribald humour, his courtship of Miss Drew felt too fragile to discuss with anyone bar Iris. His need for her left him feeling vulnerable, something he was not used to at all.
"Lady Havisham, Miss Havisham," Jack gave a neat bow, as they reached the pair. "How lovely to see you both."
"Can you see Lady Havisham?" Iris interrupted, "All I can see is half a dead peacock."
"At least I have deigned to dress myself," Lady Havisham groused in return, from under her feathers, "You seem to have dressed for a Grecian wedding, Iris. I am not entirely sure if it's a nightrail or a bedsheet you have on."
"The style is called à la grecque, my lady," Iris replied blithely, as she linked arms with the irascible Scotswoman, "It was the height of fashion during the Byzantine era when you were a girl, was it not?"
Jack watched with a bewildered grin, as his sister pulled Lady Havisham toward the stairs, leaving him and Violet alone.
"You'll have to excuse my sister," he said quietly, as he offered Violet his arm.
"Only if you excuse my aunt," she replied, with a shy smile. She hesitated for a moment, before placing her small hand on his forearm, and when she did, Jack noted that she seemed as affected by their nearness as he.
A pained silence fell between them, as Jack led them up the staircase toward their box. He was no good at small talk, especially with women. In the army, conversations had tended toward banter and lewdness, and he could hardly recite a risqué limerick to break the silence.
"I like your—your," Jack began, then lost track of what he had been about to say when Violet turned her bewitching, purple gaze upon him.
"I like your...you," Jack finished stupidly, flushing at his lack of verbal dexterity. Shakespeare, he was not.
"Your Grace," Violet replied after a pause, and Jack flinched, for he recognised from her cautionary tone that she was about to impart bad news.
Thankfully, his heart was spared immediate damage by Lady Havisham, who turned to call—or rather bellow—to the pair to keep up.
"This is our box," Iris added, as she led the way to their seats.
Jack had to admire his sister, as she subtly arranged things so that Violet was placed beside Jack, in the darker corner of the box.
"Do you enjoy the theatre, Miss Havisham?" Jack inquired, once they were finally settled into their seats.
"I do," Violet kept her face turned forward as she replied, as though afraid to look at him, "Though I do not attend many plays. My brother is the true drama lover of the family."
"Ah, Sebastian," Jack smiled, happy to have something in common they might discuss, "We are acquainted. I wonder if he is here tonight?"
Jack peered out into the theatre, scanning the facing boxes and stalls for any sight of young Mr Havisham, whilst beside him, Violet let out a little squeak of dismay.
"Is anything amiss?" Jack queried, turning toward her with worry.
"A spider," Violet mumbled, her face pale, "But it is gone. Tell me, your Grace, do you attend many plays?"
"Not as many as I would like," Jack conceded, with a regretful wave to his large form, "I find that I am not built for such small spaces."
Miss Havisham's eyes followed the wave of his hand, and she blushed a little as he caught her appraisal. He had not noted until he said it, but the box was so small that Jack and Violet were almost pressed up against each other in their chairs. His thigh grazed hers, accidentally, and he was gratified that Miss Havisham let out a sharp sigh, which gave voice to his own sudden discomfort.
"Oh, look," Violet said, breathing a sigh of relief, "They're dimming the lights."
Indeed, the gaslights of the theatre had begun to flicker, and the roar of the crowd died down to a gentle hum. On stage, the curtains rose, and Jack settled back into his seat, to enjoy the night's performance as best he could.
For a while, he managed to focus his attention on the opening act of Twelfth Night but found his attention wandering toward the lady beside him. For her part, Violet appeared rapt by the play; her face was turned toward the stage, and her posture was rigid and straight. It was only when Jack moved slightly, and Miss Havisham immediately jumped, did Jack realise that her nerves were as highly attuned to him, as he to her.
It was rather gratifying to realise that Miss Havisham was not as immune to him as she might think she was.
"Well, what do you think so far?" Jack queried, as the curtains fell for the intermission, "Can't say that I find the storyline very plausible."
"Oh, it's more plausible than you might think, your Grace," Violet replied with a slight laugh before Iris interrupted.
"Orsino, you might fetch some lemonade and leave us ladies to converse amongst ourselves," Iris said, with a wink to Violet, "I am simply dying to interrogate the lady who has managed to finally get you to stick your head above the parapet of love."
Orsino's blushes only went unnoticed because Miss Havisham had turned as red as a beacon. Not only did she look embarrassed, but she also seemed faintly terrified of Iris. And who could blame her; his sister was famed for pushing the bounds of propriety for her own amusement.
"There will be no interrogation of my guests," Jack cautioned, adopting his most ducal expression in the face of Iris' sisterly mischief.
"La! Fine, I shall not interrogate the girl," Iris pouted, "Instead I
shall offer her some sisterly advice on how best to control the men-folk. Did you know, Miss Havisham, that it was your aunt who helped me to tame Giles when we were first wed? He was prone to gadding about town, like he was still a young blood, but Lady Havisham advised me to have the servants move all the furniture in his chambers when he was out too late at White's. If he was too deep in his cups when he arrived home, he could not find his bed. Such fun!"
Lady Havisham boomed with laughter at this anecdote, whilst Violet looked torn between amusement and horror.
Jack sighed; perhaps it would have been better for Iris to interrogate Violet rather than give her free rein to tell stories.
"Iris," Jack whispered as he prepared to leave, "If I might appeal to your better nature?"
"I don't have one," Iris winked, "Now hurry along with the lemonade or I might amuse Miss Havisham with tales of your misspent youth. What was it that you called the dolly you carried around when you were five?"
Argh. Jack resisted the urge to groan in despair; instead, he cast Iris a warning glare, before he made his way downstairs in search of refreshments.
No man had ever procured lemonade as quickly as Jack did that evening. He used all of his muscle and mass to push his way through the crowds to where liveried waiters were handing out glasses of the cloudy drink.
Thankful that his hands were large enough to easily manage four glasses, Jack raced back to the box, just in time to hear Iris finish detailing how she used to make Jack dress up in a gown for play tea-parties.
"You are determined to embarrass me, sister dearest," Jack said through gritted teeth, as he passed the glasses to each of the ladies.
"Not at all," Iris protested, "I was merely trying to paint an accurate picture of you for Miss Havisham. You present such a rugged, manly exterior to the world that it is difficult for people to believe that you have a softer side. He is incredibly soft-hearted, Miss Havisham."
"But I have not worn a dress in many years," Jack was quick to clarify, "And even then, it was under duress. Iris was quite the tyrannical older sister."
"Oh, I know something of domineering siblings," Miss Havisham gave a light laugh, "Sebastian once convinced me to cut off all my hair and go in his stead to Eton."
"Really?" Jack raised an eyebrow, "I cannot imagine you made a very convincing boy; your looks are far too feminine."
Violet made a strangled sound, halfway between a laugh and a cry. Jack blinked a little, unsure if this was the usual female response to compliments.
Any further enquiries he might have wished to make were abandoned by the arrival of two guests, who poked their heads around the curtains of the box.
"Your Grace, Lady Iris," Lady Cardigan cried in greeting, "I thought that it was you whom I spotted."
It took Herculean effort for Jack not to curse aloud at the arrival of Lady Cardigan, a woman he usually had great time for. Beside her, still dressed in half-mourning, stood Lady Olivia, appearing as pained as Jack felt.
"Oh, you have guests," Lady Cardigan glanced pointedly at Violet and Lady Havisham, and Iris hastened to make an introduction.
"I have heard a great deal about you from your nephew, Lady Havisham," Lady Cardigan said congenially, before turning to Violet with a frown, "Though I was not aware that Waldo had a daughter; he has never mentioned you, my dear."
"That is no surprise," Violet whispered, so quietly that Jack assumed it had not been said to be heard. He frowned a little, as he watched Miss Havisham rearrange her fine features into a pleasant smile, as she listened to the three ladies chattering. Jack, who had spent his youth as an unneeded spare, recognised well the flash of pain that had dulled Violet's eyes. He understood all too well how it felt to never quite matter.
Lady Olivia stood slightly to the right of her mother, her blue eyes glazed with boredom. It was only when Lady Cardigan made noises about returning to their seats, that the young woman finally spoke.
"Is Mr Havisham with you?" she queried of Lady Havisham, whilst fidgeting nervously with a strand of her hair.
"Sebastian?" Lady Havisham boomed, "Chance would be a fine thing, I have not seen the lad in weeks. Violet, where has your brother got to?"
Jack watched as Violet paled and bit on her rosebud mouth nervously. He was so distracted by thoughts of himself nibbling on that lush bottom lip that he missed her response, and by the time his mind had righted itself, the gaslights were flickering for the second half of the play.
Jack allowed a few minutes to pass before he shifted in his seat slightly, to whisper in Violet's ear.
"I cannot believe that your father has never mentioned you to Lady Cardigan," he said in a low voice, "I am sure that he speaks highly of you to everyone he meets."
A very unladylike snort greeted this statement before Violet turned her face toward him to reply.
"I am afraid that you store far more faith in my father than I do," she said, as a sad smile played around the corners of her mouth, "He has room in his heart only for Sebastian."
"Then he is a fool," Jack growled, and to his—and Violet's—surprise, he reached out and took her hand in his.
He had meant to offer her a comforting squeeze, but as Jack held her small, gloved hand in his, he found that he could not simply squeeze it and let it go. So instead, he kept a hold of it for the remainder of the play.
The two final acts of the play passed in a blur, as Jack concentrated on savouring the feeling of Violet's hand in his. For her part, she did not tense, or try and snatch her hand away, and when the play finally came to an end, and the gas lights flickered back on, Jack was gratified to find that her cheeks were rosy, and she seemed as flustered as he.
"Well, that was simply wonderful," Iris cried, as their group began to find their feet.
"Indeed," Jack replied, hoping she would not question him on any aspect of the play, for he could not recall a second of it.
Iris and Lady Havisham led the way back downstairs, both debating the merits of the play and its actors.
"Were you taken with the performance, Miss Havisham?" Jack queried lightly as they neared the foyer.
"I can't say that I can recall much of it, your Grace," she replied, as her cheeks turned rosy red.
Within Jack's chest, male pride roared, and for the first time, he understood why Montague happily dove headfirst into love every few months—it was intoxicating.
When love speaks, the voice of all the gods makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Orsino had not been the brightest of students, but as he led Violet through the crowded foyer, a quote from Shakespeare sprang to mind. He felt as light and fluffy as a cloud—something he seldom experienced, given that he was built as solid as a rock.
As they neared the doorway, where they would wait for their carriage, Jack felt an urgent need to secure a promise from Violet that they would meet again.
"I would like to call on you tomorrow," he said, nervously clearing his throat.
"Ah."
With one syllable, Jack felt his heart drop to his feet.
"I am afraid that tomorrow I have made plans," Violet offered, "With my friends Miss Charlotte Drew and Lady Julia. We meet once a week to discuss the prescribed text that Charlotte has set. Tomorrow we are discussing Evelina."
"Is it good?" Jack asked as hope fluttered anew. Surely she would not have offered so detailed an excuse if she was simply trying to fob him off.
"Heaven knows, your Grace," Violet laughed, "I have not read it. I am afraid that Miss Drew is the only one who ever reads the books she sets. Lady Julia and I are just there for the French Fancies."
Not for the first time in his life, Jack wondered at the complexities of the female species, who always seemed to think one needed an excuse to eat cake. Still, Violet had not dashed his hopes completely, and ever the soldier, he battled on.
"And the day after that?" he pressed, wondering if perhaps he might find a way to wiggle into one day of her schedule.
"A ball at Lord and Lady Jacob's."
> "Ah, what a coincidence," Jack fibbed, "I had planned to attend that too. I hope that you will be kind enough to save me a dance, Miss Havisham."
"If there is one thing you do not have to worry about, your Grace," Violet laughed in reply, "It is finding me with a full dance card. You might have your pick of them if you wish."
"If that is the case," Jack lowered his voice to a soft growl, "Then I pick them all, Miss Havisham. All your dances."
If he were braver, Jack might have added that he wanted to claim all her dances forevermore, but he was still a little unsure of Miss Havisham. Oh, he was certain that she felt the same attraction to him, as he to her. But she was still reticent, still nervous of admitting it even to herself. Her brother's assertion that Miss Havisham was the most determined spinster still played in Jack's mind, and he was afraid that if he revealed the depth of his intentions too soon, she might flee like a skittish doe.
Any further conversation was prevented as the pair caught up with Iris and Lady Havisham, who were waiting for them at the door. Jack took charge and bid the doorman summon their carriages. Once they had arrived, he assisted first Lady Havisham, and then Violet, into their vehicle, before returning for Iris.
"Well," his sister said, once they were seated inside their compartment and headed for home, "That went very well."
"Do you think?" Jack questioned, hopefully. His sister was more attuned to the mysterious female nuances and signals, and if she believed Miss Havisham interested in him, then it had to be true.
"Oh, yes," Iris gave a cat-like smile, "It's clear as day that Lady Olivia is infatuated by Sebastian Havisham."
"Really?" Jack blinked; how on earth had she ascertained that?
"Yes," Iris nodded, "Which lets you off the hook on that front. And as for Miss Havisham."
"Yes?" Jack sat up straight, rapt with attention.
"I think it would be best if I bought a new hat."
Well, Jack thought, once he had deciphered her code, this did bode well.
Chapter Nine
Violet was not often given over to bouts of sorrow, or maudlin thoughts, but the following morning she found that she could not shake the grey cloud of despair which hung over her.
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