Violet had erred, and like anyone else who had made a mistake, she had to live with the consequences.
The rest of the morning was spent on cleaning the drawing-room. Violet assisted Dorothy with the dusting and sweeping, before tidying away her paints and easel in preparation for luncheon.
"Your brother has found himself a wife," Aunt Phoebe commented, when Violet arrived, newly washed and dressed at the table.
"Yes, he told me," Violet smiled, "It was sudden and unexpected, but then we wouldn't expect anything less from Sebastian."
"I don't suppose we would," Phoebe commented mildly, as she speared an asparagus, "And it is far preferential to traipsing off up north, to play a Moorish prince."
"He told you?" Violet gawped.
"I knew from the off," Aunt Phoebe grinned, "Nothing happens in this house without my knowing. Now tell me; what is happening with you and the duke?"
Violet, hurriedly tried to swallow the bite of fish-pie she had taken, before she choked on it in shock. She had oft thought Aunt Phoebe omnipotent—if scatterbrained—and now she had her proof.
"I fear that I upset him greatly, and injured his pride," Violet offered, after a pause, "There is no hope there, Aunt, but I am certain I will recover in time."
"Pfft. Men," Aunt Phoebe rolled her eyes, "They are oft so weak that a blow to their pride can be fatal. I had more hope for Orsino, but even I can be wrong. Well then, niece, if you do not think you shall marry the duke, then we must plan for your future."
"Is staying in bed 'till noon and eating copious amounts of French Fancies a satisfactory plan?" Violet mused, to which Phoebe tut-tutted.
"I won't tolerate idleness," Lady Havisham grumbled, sounding decidedly Scottish, "No. I think a jaunt to Florence, followed by Venice, then back round to Paris should be plan enough."
If Violet had been shocked earlier, she was dumbfounded now. How could Aunt Phoebe propose such a trip—which would take at least a year—when their finances were already stretched? And that was without the increased annuity to Sebastian.
"Thank you, Aunt Phoebe," Violet stuttered, "But it is too much. I should not like to be the Havisham who bankrupted the family coffers."
"You shan't be," Aunt Phoebe threw her head back and laughed, "Just because I like to live frugally, does not mean that we are impoverished. I have money aplenty, and a nest-egg that I have been saving for just such an occasion."
Aunt Phoebe heaved herself up from her seat and pottered over to the sideboard, where various miniatures and ornaments were displayed. She picked up a sculpted, wooden elephant, that Violet had seen every day for the past three years, and gave its head a sharp twist.
It opened to reveal a compartment, with a velvet bag inside. Aunt Phoebe scooped this out, tottered back to Violet, and offered her the bag.
It was heavier than it looked, Violet thought with a frown, as she opened its drawstrings to see what was inside.
"Aunt Phoebe," she gasped, glancing up at her aunt in astonishment, "Where on earth did you get this?"
"When I was in INN-JAA," Aunt Phoebe boomed, with a far-away look in her eye, "I met a rather nice fellow called Maharajah."
"Are you certain he wasn't the Maharajah, Aunt?" Violet interrupted, perplexed, but Aunt Phoebe was not listening.
"I had become separated from dear Cousin Cecil, who had accompanied me on my trip," Aunt Phoebe continued, "And I was frightfully worried, for Cecil kept trying to convert the locals, and they weren't too taken by that. Dorothy and I set out on a hunt along the Tapi River, hoping to find him in one of the villages. After a few days, this Maharajah fellow stumbled across us and offered some assistance. He sent several of his fellows off, to find poor Cecil, whilst Dorothy and I rested in his palace. After a week, Cecil was found, but by that time the Maharajah had fallen in love with me—not that I can blame him, I was quite the beauty in my day."
"Of course," Violet agreed; she had seen the paintings which depicted Aunt Phoebe in her youth, beautiful, wild, and untameable.
"Anyway," Aunt Phoebe shrugged, "He begged me to stay, but I could not. I had only just landed in Surat, and there was so much more to see! So as a parting gift, he gave me that."
Aunt Phoebe nodded happily at the ruby in Violet's hand. It was the size of a duck-egg, and a deep, almost flawless, red.
"John Rundell has offered me a fortune for it over the years," Aunt Phoebe grinned, "And now, I might finally take him up on his offer."
Violet was struck-dumb by Phoebe's tale, a fact which seemed to tickle her Aunt.
"Do you know," she continued, glancing fondly at the gem, "I tried to give it to your father when he finished up at Oxford. But he said he had heard enough of my tales of India, and seemed determined to set forth to make his own fortune, so I let him to it."
Aunt Phoebe gave a laugh that could best be described as a cackle and rose from her feet once more.
"I'll put it back in its hiding place for now," she said, taking the ruby back from Violet, "But it is there, and once we have decided on our plans, I shall sell it. Now, all this excitement has given me terrible indigestion, Violet; I must go take a nap."
With that, Phoebe returned the gem into its hiding place inside the elephant and took herself off to bed.
Violet, who still had some of her lunch left, remained at the table. She munched through her asparagus and fish pie, still quite taken-aback by Phoebe's revelation.
This is it, she thought, your life-long dream, handed to you on a plate. She should, she knew, be overwhelmed with happiness—and she was, not to mention gratitude to Aunt Phoebe—but still, she felt something was missing.
And that something was big, tall, and built like an ox, so it was no wonder she felt its absence so keenly.
After lunch, Violet took herself back to the drawing-room. She had no plans for the afternoon, and whilst she could have continued working on her newest painting, she felt too lethargic to bother.
Instead, she sat herself down on the chaise longue, to peruse the day's papers. They were still filled with articles about the marriage of the Duke of Penrith to Miss Charlotte Drew, which had taken place two days hence. Penrith's apology—and proposal—had been most romantic, and had involved a very public dip in Miller's Pond for His Grace, which Violet—not to mention half of London—had witnessed.
It was no wonder that the papers were still talking of it, though she did ponder, as she flicked through them if there were no other worthy news items they might report on.
Toward the back of The London Chronicle, there were several pages dedicated to notices—births, marriages, deaths, and the like. Other notices listed items for sale, or positions vacant, while others contained pleas for the return of lost cats or dogs.
Violet perused them with all the interest of one who was simply trying to pass the time, until, that is, a familiar name caught her eye.
Mrs Katherine Greer seeks information on the whereabouts of her husband John, who did not return home on Sunday last. The authorities have been most unhelpful. Small reward offered. Please write to K. Greer at—
Violet read and reread the notice, her mind a-whirr. Her father's message, which she had promptly forgotten about in all the duke-related-drama, had mentioned that Mr Greer held the name of a higher-up in Whitehall. Was it possible that this gentleman had discovered that Mr Greer had been labelled as a spy? Surely, if Mr Greer had been dealt with by the right channels, there would have been news of his capture—for the Crown did love to crow when they caught a spy. Something untoward must have happened...
No, Violet thought, as she tried to calm herself, that's ridiculous. Besides, Orsino would learn of Greer's disappearance, and investigate if he thought anything was amiss.
But the duke had departed for Wales, just two days later, a voice in her head reminded her. And it was unlikely that fate was so powerful that he would spot a small notice in one of the London papers.
Violet bit her lip as she pondered over what she should do. She could
hardly march into Whitehall, asking to see the top-secret official who had worked with Orsino. Not only would she be in trouble, but Orsino would be as well.
Her eye caught on the front page of The Times, whose front page also featured an article on Charlotte's marriage to one of the infamous "Upstarts".
That was it! Violet said a silent prayer of thanks, as she realised that there was one person she could confide in —Penrith.
As Orsino's close friend—and another of Whitehall's emissaries—he was certain to know what steps needed to be taken, if any. And as Charlotte's friend, Penrith was unlikely to press her too hard for details on how she came to learn Greer's name.
Violet sprung from the chaise, in search of a shawl. She debated calling Henry to fetch the carriage, but as time was not on her side, she decided against it.
"I am going out for a walk," she cried as she raced through the entrance hall and out the front door.
Heaven only knew how many people spotted her, as she scandalously raced down Jermyn Street, toward St James' Square. But Violet did not care; she had to reach Penrith.
It was only at the front door of the duke's towering residence that Violet deigned to straighten herself up. She ran a hand over her hair, and wrapped her shawl tightly around herself, hoping that her appearance was neat enough to warrant admission.
"I need to speak to Her Grace," Violet gasped, as the officious butler opened the door, "And before you ask, I do not have a card. Please tell her it is Violet Havisham, and that it is an emergency."
The butler eyed her warily, but duly disappeared into the house—though not without closing the door behind him. After a few minutes, Charlotte appeared, having been dragged from the recesses of the vast mansion.
"Violet," she exclaimed, her face creased into a frown of worry, "Is everything all right?"
"Yes," Violet nodded, before correcting herself, "Well, no, actually. Well, if I'm honest, I'm not sure."
Charlotte took one look at her harried friend and placed an arm around her to guide her inside.
"We shall need some tea," she instructed the butler, "And French Fancies—actually, best make it a platter."
Once inside the elegantly appointed drawing-room, Violet began to tell her tale. She did not stop—not even when Charlotte tried to interject—until she had reached the very end.
"Well," Charlotte looked rather impressed, "I was not expecting that. What a tale, Violet; you shall have to elaborate more on certain aspects, once we have the time. But for now, I would think we had best involve Penrith."
Charlotte glided to the door of the drawing-room, no doubt, Violet guessed, on a cloud of newly-wedded bliss. She threw open the door, and poked her head outside, loudly calling for "Shuggy".
"He'll come quicker if he thinks the servants might hear me calling him that," Charlotte explained, with a wink, to her friend.
Indeed, in just a few seconds, the Duke of Penrith came striding into the room, his expression one of irritated affection.
"You hollered, wife dearest?" he questioned, with a sardonic raise of his brow.
"I did not holler," Charlotte grumbled, "I called for my dear husband, but you arrived instead."
"Perhaps your dear husband would arrive quicker, if you called him by his name," Penrith countered with a grin, before catching sight of Violet, "Oh, you have company."
"Oh, yes," Charlotte flushed, before making a hasty introduction.
"Violet has come by some information," Charlotte continued, once she had completed the necessary social niceties, "Though we cannot tell you how. I promise you she came by it legally—or well, I think legally?"
Charlotte cast Violet a questioning glance, and Violet felt herself flush as the Duke of Penrith turned his cool, blue-eyed gaze upon her.
"It was perfectly legal," Violet assured the duke, "I was helping the Duke of Orsino to translate a message from my father."
Violet was sure that Penrith wanted her to elaborate further, but she ploughed on before he had a chance to interrupt her. She quickly explained the message, and what it had said, before detailing the notice she had found in the paper.
"See," she said, thrusting the note, which she had ripped from the paper at Penrith, "Is it not strange? Surely the government would make a big show and dance about catching a traitor in their midst, rather than have him disappear."
Penrith took the notice and scanned it, his brow furrowed in thought. Beside him, Charlotte smiled encouragingly at Violet, who offered her a wan smile in return.
"Did Orsino happen to mention who it was who was instructing him?" Penrith queried, after a pause.
He seemed, Violet thought with relief, to be taking her very seriously. She shook her head, and Penrith exhaled an epithet, for which he promptly apologised.
"I shall check across the square," he said, almost to himself, "To see what any of Orsino's staff might know, or if they might find some correspondence which might be useful. You two stay here, I shall return anon."
"I do love it when he acts so seriously," Charlotte whispered, her eyes following her husband's form as he left the room. Charlotte flushed a little, though her expression was one of a contented cat.
"Come," Charlotte gestured to the chairs, "While he is gone you may explain yourself more, Miss Havisham. Did you say that Orsino proposed to you?"
"Yes," Violet replied glumly, taking a seat, "Though I could not accept—not when I was deceiving him. I fear he might never forgive me, but do not fret, Charlotte, Aunt Phoebe has promised to take me to Venice."
"Oh, Violet," Charlotte gave her friend a sad smile, "How bittersweet."
"It is my own fault," Violet shrugged, "And though I am saddened now, I am sure that, with time, I will forget all about Orsino. And, it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Isn't that what they say?"
"Mmmh," Charlotte replied absently, distracted by something outside the window.
The sound of the front door opening and closing brought Violet's attention to the matter at hand. Though, as the sound of two sets of footsteps approached, Charlotte turned to her friend with a grin.
"Perhaps all is not lost," she said, as the door to the drawing-room opened.
Violet looked up, to find not only Penrith but Orsino too, standing in the doorway.
"Violet," Orsino croaked, his handsome face wearing a look of longing.
Violet stood from her seat and stared stupidly back at him. Love, she thought, did rather tie one's tongue.
Charlotte clapped gleefully, as she glanced between Orsino and Violet. Though her glee was to be shortlived, for Penrith marched over and placed a hand on her arm.
"Come, let us give them some privacy," he whispered, though loud enough for Violet to hear, "Take it from a man who made a very public proposal—it is easier without an audience."
Charlotte looked as though she wished to protest, but she followed her husband from the room in silence. As the door closed behind them, however, Violet heard a slight kerfuffle, as Charlotte put up some of a fight.
Evidently, she had thought that she might listen through the keyhole.
"Ah," Orsino said, as the noise died away, "Here we are."
"Yes," Violet offered in return, though she frowned as she thought of something, "Why are you here? I thought that you had left for Wales?"
"I realised when I was half-way there, that there was somewhere else I needed to be," Orsino replied, looking rather vulnerable for one so intimidating.
He took a hesitant step toward her, and when Violet did not back away, he took another, until at last, he was standing before her.
"I have been a blunderbuss, Violet," he said, as he took her hands in his, "A thundering, great gundiguts, and I should hang in chains for having run off like that."
"No, I am the gundiguts," Violet replied, though she was not too certain what that actually was, "I should never have tried to fool you."
"You did it for your brother," Orsino shrugged, before momentarily wincing, "An
d if I was annoyed, it was with myself, for being so taken in by your disguise. It was really very good; you could have a career as a spy if you wished it."
"I don't wish it," Violet held his gaze, willing him to understand what it was that she did wish for.
"Do you forgive me for being a prideful fool?" Orsino whispered as he lowered his head toward hers.
"Only if you forgive me for being a stupid fool," Violet breathed.
Forgiveness was granted between both parties with a kiss. Soft at first, but soon it turned to a more passionate embrace. Violet's arms snaked around Orsino's neck, as she drew him toward her, savouring his warmth and strength.
They carried on like this for a few minutes, both lost in the sensual pleasure of it until a noise outside the door stopped them.
"I wonder what that was?" Orsino looked alarmed.
"I bet you fivepence it's Charlotte," Violet guessed. And sure enough, Penrith's voice calling out an admonishment to his wife could be heard through the door.
"I'd best do this quickly then," Orsino said, as he dropped to his knee before her, "Violet Havisham, will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?"
For a moment, Violet was so overcome with emotion that she could not answer. It was only when Orsino began to look a little panicked, that Violet finally found her voice.
"Yes," she cried, tugging him back to his feet, "Yes, of course, I will."
Another kiss thusly ensued, though this time Charlotte could not hold herself back, and came barrelling through the door, followed by Penrith.
"Oh, I am so happy!" she cried, at the same time as her husband said, "I did try to stop her, but she's unstoppable."
"Oh, hush, Shuggy," Charlotte admonished, and Penrith turned pink, "Anyway, we could not have left them alone another minute longer, or it might have been deemed a scandal. We can't fall at the first hurdle of our duties as chaperones."
Never Fool a Duke Page 17