I will be in touch when I have more to report. I hope that this will come to a quick conclusion, as there are other matters with which we require your assistance.
General Dobbins
The paper fell out of Owen’s hands and fluttered to the floor. An attack on his home. He had been involved in many situations that had threatened his life, but never before had his home been violated. This was personal, and it called into question everything he knew to be true, including his own future and what it might hold. He could not very well offer Violet anything — even a promise — if it meant that her life might be in danger. Once Comtois was caught, she would be far safer here, without Owen.
He sat down on the settee in the sitting room, removed his hat, and ran a hand through his hair as an ache began deep in his chest and spread through his body, to the point where he thought he would be sick.
A life without Violet… never would he have thought it would hurt so much to imagine it. And now that it was a reality, it felt as though it was going to break him. He had thought he was a stronger man than that, but love, apparently, brought a man to his knees. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
* * *
Violet was upstairs preparing for bed when she looked out her window and saw Owen standing on the shore, looking out at the ocean. Her heart felt as though it skipped a beat as she gazed upon his lean, strong profile. The pull to go to him was nearly impossible to ignore, and she thought on all that had occurred today. She had stood up to her father, had said no to Linus, and had never felt such relief before.
Now it was time to speak her truth, to tell Owen how she really felt. If she didn’t, she would regret it for the rest of her life. Perhaps he felt nothing of the same for her. What she would then do with her future, she had no idea. But she had to try.
Violet turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She hadn’t yet changed out of her pale pink muslin dress, but she had let down her hair. She should put it back together before greeting Owen, but by then it might be too late — he could be gone.
For once in her life, she decided it was time to take a risk, and she was out the door and down the stairs before she could change her mind.
Violet wasn’t sure whether she was excited or simply anxious as she stood at the edge of the beach, looking at Owen as he gazed out over the water. Most would wonder what he was looking at, but Violet knew better. She spent many a moment staring out at nothing, while her head filled with images that were far more exciting. Of what he was thinking, she had no idea, but she hoped that he might share some of that — and more — with her.
“Owen?” she called softly as she approached, and he quickly turned on his heel at her voice. His face was pinched and pensive, far from its usual easy careless expression.
“Violet,” he murmured, the warmth in his voice coursing through her in waves. Goodness, he was handsome. It still seemed to take her by surprise every time she looked at him. She gazed at his lips, visible through his dark beard, and imagined herself kissing them once more. But then she shook her head. This was the time for words, not action.
“I must speak with you,” she began, but he lifted a hand.
“Would you mind if I share something with you first?”
“I… I suppose,” she said, her elation at telling him all that had happened falling slightly as she awaited his words, but if he was going to tell her how he felt, that… perhaps, he loved her? Could it be? Then she was willing to wait. Except his expression was rather stoic and not at all tender.
“Violet, I think that you should marry Linus and stay here at the inn.”
Violet’s heart stopped. Or, at least, it felt as though it did, for the rest of the world continued to move about her, even though everything she had known to be true seemed to suddenly change.
“Can you say that again?” she asked in a small voice.
He took a step closer to her, so that they were only a foot or so apart, though it seemed like a mile now stretched between them.
“I know you have been struggling with the decision of what to do with your life. And I know that your father wants this for you. I haven’t said anything to you before now because I felt that you should make this decision on your own. But now…”
“Now what?” she asked, hearing her voice hard and bitter, but she couldn’t help herself. Now he decided to have something to say to her?
He looked down at the ground between them, his hands on his hips, before he raised his head up to take her in once more.
“I have greatly enjoyed our time together,” he said, and she could only stare at him as his words rang through her.
She should have known. She was nothing more than a distraction until a greater purpose came along.
“But I realize now that nothing more can come of this — whatever it is — between us. I have nothing to offer you. My life is one mission after another, and who is to say for how long that will continue? I have made enemies and while the inn is not, at the moment, a place of safety, it will be again. You know what to expect from a life here. You love this place. You have your gardens, your books, your friends. If we… if we were to ever progress beyond our time together here, you might be put in danger from those out for revenge against me. I cannot do that to you.”
As he spoke, his words brought both relief and fear. Relief that it wasn’t, perhaps, the fact that he didn’t feel anything for her, but rather that he still put his role of protector above all else. And fear due to the resolve in his voice, for he was a man who would not be deterred when he was sure of something, especially when it meant keeping another safe.
“Many take me to be meek and mild,” she said, finding her voice, forcing herself to say what was in her heart. What did it matter? He would be gone from here soon anyway, so she may as well say what she had come here to tell him. “But that is not necessarily the case. It is just that my sisters — well, mostly Iris — always seem to be saying enough. But when something matters, I feel it is best to say what is on my mind. And in this case, well, it matters.” She paused. “I said no to my father. I actually said much more than that, but that is beside the point. I said no to marrying Linus, to spending the rest of my life at The Wild Rose Inn. I love this place, but this is not what I want for myself. Especially if it means spending my life with Linus. I had resigned myself to the fact that I would never find love — true love — but I was wrong.”
She finally worked up the courage to look into his eyes, and what she read there was not the hope that she would have liked to have seen, but rather pain.
“Violet—”
“I love you, Owen Ridlington. You are a man who puts others before yourself, who doesn’t take what was handed to him but has formed a life that has meaning. I think I admire you more than I’ve ever admired another, and I would like nothing more than to spend my life with you. Even though you haven’t offered it, and now,” her voice broke, “it seems as though you likely never will.”
She took a step backward, ready to run. She had said what she came here to say, but now she knew that there would be no reciprocation. Owen opened his mouth as though to say something, and she cringed, waiting for his rejection. But then he suddenly stepped forward, filling the gap she had created between them, and brought his mouth down upon hers, kissing her hard, possessively, as though telling her with his actions exactly what he felt he couldn’t with his words. One hand came behind her head, his fingers twining into her unbound hair. Suddenly she was quite pleased that she hadn’t taken an extra moment to put it back up again.
His lips roved over hers with more passion than she ever could have asked for, and yet… this was not a kiss of promise. As he broke away and stared down at her with glazed eyes, she knew what this was, and it filled her with sorrow. This was a kiss of goodbye.
“Violet…” he said, his voice raspy, and she shook her head. She didn’t want to hear it.
“Violet, I’m sorry,” he began again, but she raised her hand in front of her, wa
rning him off as she backed away. She willed her tears to remain inside, but she couldn’t help when a few squeezed out of her eyes anyway and rolled down her cheeks.
“Violet, please, I… I just have nothing I can say, I can’t—”
But this time, she didn’t let him finish. She turned on her heel and raced away as quickly as she could, so she wouldn’t have to face him any longer.
13
“I just don’t know what is left for me.”
Violet couldn’t see them from her stance near the window, but she could practically feel her sisters’ looks of pity on her back. It had been two long days since Owen had told her that there was no future to be had between the two of them. Two days of avoiding his eyes when she had to serve him, of hiding her tears, splashing water on her puffy cheeks, and attempting to go about her day as if nothing was wrong — as if her whole world hadn’t fallen apart.
“You are young still, Vi,” Daisy said gently, placing a hand on her back. “You don’t know what could be awaiting you.”
“If Linus takes the inn—” she cringed at the thought, “—then where does that leave me? He has promised Mother and Father a small cottage and stipend in exchange for the inn, but what would I do with myself?”
“Mother and Father will never turn you out,” Daisy said, though her voice lacked conviction and Violet could have sworn she heard Iris snort.
“Father has asked that, even if I will not marry Linus, I help him run the inn for a time,” Violet said, her voice bitter. “Apparently Linus is convinced that he cannot do it alone.”
“Oh Vi, you simply cannot do such a thing,” Iris said vehemently. “You would be ruined — scandalized — if you lived here alone with the man. Why, it is nothing more than a ploy to force you into marriage, and Father shouldn’t be so stupid that he doesn’t realize it.”
“You see?” Violet said morosely. “No options.”
“What do they call this moment in your books, Vi?” Daisy asked, and Violet could hear her attempting optimism. “The storm before the rainbow? Things will get better. They must.”
Violet leaned her forehead against the cool glass as she looked out over the ocean below, while her sisters sat on the bed behind her.
“I thought I felt something for Comtois but look how that turned out. Now I fall in love — truly fall in love — and the man tells me that there is no future for the two of us. I am living a tragedy, not a romance.”
She knew she was being as dramatic as Iris, but she couldn’t help herself.
“He may come around,” Iris said with an attempt at enthusiasm, but Violet shook her head.
“He was fairly resolute.”
All was silent for a moment as her sisters had clearly run out of anything remotely optimistic to say.
“You will come live with me,” Daisy said suddenly, causing Violet to turn from the window.
“Pardon me?”
“I said, you will come live with me,” Daisy said with conviction. “I have a massive home in London and an even bigger one in the country. Both are filled with the most beautiful rooms, more numerous than those here in the inn, and all of them are sitting empty. Nathaniel would be happy to have you, as would his mother and sister. They enjoy all sorts of events. You would love the theatre, Violet, and in London, there is access to the most amazing circulation libraries and bookstores — it would be perfect.”
Violet managed a small smile for her sister.
“I cannot live off your charity.”
“Not forever,” Daisy said with a shrug. “Simply long enough for you to come to find a man of your own or a calling you enjoy. I know it feels like you may never love again, but you never know, Vi. There are plenty of men in London, and one might catch your eye.”
Daisy was trying so hard that Violet couldn’t help but give her a slight nod in order to appease her, but she knew, deep within her soul, the truth of the matter.
She would never love again.
* * *
Owen ran a weary hand over his face as he re-entered the inn that night. After training the militia that morning, he had spent the rest of the day on watch before handing off his duty to another.
He had to admit that he had not been the best of commanders these days, for all he could think of was Violet.
Violet, with eyes true to her name, a heart of gold, and a whimsical air that seemed to have been lost after they had last spoken. He was as bad as Comtois for taking from her the romantic spirit that had always followed her around, and he hated himself for it.
But it was for the best, he told himself for the hundredth time that day. She was safer and would be happier here.
After eating a quick meal of leftover roast pork and potatoes, he pushed back from the table and trudged up the stairs to his room, which had never looked more barren nor bleaker.
Similar to his future.
He kicked off his boots and lay down, praying he would quickly fall asleep.
God was being merciful, for he did.
It seemed like moments later but was in actuality a few hours when a scream abruptly woke Owen. He looked around wildly as he attempted to determine from where it was coming, but it was rooms away. He bolted to his feet, forcing them back into his boots before he threw open the door to his room and began running down the corridor.
And that’s when he smelled it. Smoke.
He couldn’t see it yet, nor were flames apparent, but there would be a source, and it must be close.
Owen began to knock on the door of every room he passed, waking the soldiers who slept within, if they had not already risen. “Up, up!” he called as he raced through the building and out the front door, where he saw others from the town had begun to congregate.
“The fire’s in the back!” someone called, and Owen nodded. He had trained a militia, and while their mock opponents had never been fire, his men were nonetheless prepared to fight.
“Is there a fire brigade?” he called, but there was no one near enough with knowledge of the town to answer — only former soldiers who resided at the inn now looking at him with expressions as confused as his own. “To the kitchens,” he called. “Look for buckets!”
“That’s where the fire started, Ridlington!”
Bollocks. They were near a water source at the very least. He ran to the road to see if anyone had started fighting this fire, and was relieved to see men from the town pushing a wood pumper toward the inn.
“Thank God,” he said, running to meet it, finding the blacksmith and his son-in-law, who seemed to be leading the charge of the men at the helm.
“Does this thing work?” Owen asked, and the blacksmith shrugged.
“It should,” he said. “Hasn’t been used in a time, though. And our brigade… well, it’s more of a list of men, and most are part of your militia. They respond well to you, so I’ll leave them in your hands.” He turned back and looked at Owen once more. “You do know how to fight a fire, do you not?”
He didn’t really, but this was no time to question himself. “Have you buckets?”
“Underneath.”
Owen nodded then began shouting to the men who had emerged from the inn and were congregating on the grass beyond the building.
“Form a line from the shore!” he said, then began to organize them as best he could before turning back to look at the inn. The kitchens were ablaze now, and the flames looked to be threatening the family quarters.
“Violet,” he said under his breath, and then took off at a run. “Violet!” he shouted now, looking wildly around him as he searched out the Tavners family.
Someone gripped his arm, and he turned, hoping to see a pair of violet eyes staring back at him, but instead it was the strong gaze of Nathaniel Huntingwell.
“I’ll gather the family,” he said, and Owen nodded his thanks, though his heart was wherever Violet was.
He wanted to run into the inn and look for her, but he knew she was likely already outside and he could do the most good ou
t here, directing the men, to hopefully try to save this inn.
He ran to the wood pumper, where the blacksmith was taking some of the buckets from the last man in the line and pouring them into the lead-lined trough in the main part of the equipment. He called to the second man — Burt, his name was — to start pumping the arms, and when he did, water shot out of the apparatus in a steady stream.
“Good job, men!” Owen called, but when he looked at the inn, he could see that the kitchens, where the pumper was being aimed, were already lost. “Point it to the family quarters!” he said, hoping that they could save those rooms where the flames were beginning to threaten. He directed those with buckets to focus on the same area.
Where, oh where, was Violet? He saw Daisy and Iris standing to the side with their parents, Linus Anderson, and a small blond woman watching the firefighting efforts with looks of horror upon their faces.
“Westwood!” he called out to the man who was leaving the family to begin helping with the effort. “Where is Violet?”
“I’m not sure,” Westwood yelled back, his voice barely carrying over the shouts of the other men and the crackle of the fire. People from the town had begun to gather, watching the fight. “Greenwich is in there looking for her.”
As Westwood mentioned him, the man ran from the inn, looking wildly around him.
“Has she emerged?” asked Greenwich through a paroxysm of coughing.
“No!” Westwood shouted, and Owen’s heart began to beat faster than it ever had before. Just then, he heard a cry and saw that the other side of the inn, near the guest entrance, had caught fire as well. What in the… it was as though this fire was being deliberately started. Suddenly a growing fear worked its way through his body. No. No, no, no. Comtois.
He took off toward the building, even as questions were called out to him from the men as to where exactly they should be focusing.
A Viscount for Violet: The Blooming Brides Book 4 Page 8