The trickle of hope that had been running through her became a stream.
“Oh, Owen, truly?” she gasped as his hands came to rest on her arms while her fingers curled into his shirt.
“Absolutely,” he said firmly. “I realize this may not be the most romantic of proposals. Certainly not like any you would find in those stories you so love to read. I don’t suppose any of them ever took place in an inn in Reydon?”
She laughed, shaking her head.
“Well, then this is the first. Would you marry me, Violet, even with all that it may mean for the two of us?”
“I would love nothing more,” she murmured.
His arms came around her then, and no matter where she and Owen currently were or where they might end up, she decided that there was no other place she would rather be.
He kissed her, this time not quickly and not chastely, but with a possessive grip upon her lips. If she had ever doubted anything he might be saying, she no longer had any questions. For this was not the kiss of a man unsure of what he wanted. No, this was the kiss of a man determined.
For all that others might have thought her to be timid, she was no longer. Now that she had the man who loved her in front of her, whose love she returned in equal measure, she would take all that he had to offer.
“I promise,” he said between kisses, as much as she willed him to continue them when he paused, “that I will do all in my power to stay with you, for the time between our reunions to be short, and to come home to you after each and every mission.”
“You had better return home,” she said, leaning back from him and looking deeply into his eyes. “Now that I have you, Owen, and know what love truly means, you had better not leave me.”
“I won’t,” he said, placing his forehead against hers, brushing a soft kiss over her lips. “I promise I won’t.”
And with that, they clung to one another as though it was the last time they would be together. His hands brushed over her shoulders, along her arms, until they were running up and down her back, before encircling her waist possessively.
She leaned in to him until their bodies were flush against one another, signaling that she wanted and needed more from him.
Violet slipped her hands inside the neck of his linen shirt, feeling his warm, hard chest beneath her fingertips.
When she reached to slip the bottom of his shirt from his trousers below, he stilled her fingers, but she looked up pleadingly at him.
“Love me, Owen?” she asked, and he seemed indecisive for a moment, but when she asked him once more, he nodded and kissed her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. His strong fingers came to the buttons of her dress, and he began to slip each one out of its hole.
How a man his size could be so gentle, Violet had no idea, but she was done with gentle. She helped him speed things along until there was nothing between them any longer.
He lifted her and carried her over to the bed, laying her down as though she were a priceless package. When he finally made love to her, it was more than any novel, any story ever could have prepared her for. More beautiful, more passionate, more desperate, and more perfect.
Afterward, she lay in his arms upon the small bed, the thin but clean blankets in tangles about them. She looked around her at the room, which she hadn’t really assessed since their arrival, so dazed was she by all that had occurred.
This inn in Reydon, the neighboring town, reminded her much of the Wild Rose Inn. Clean, yet bare. Simple, and not overly tasteful. Decor that had been scavenged from different households, different eras, to attempt to trick the guest into thinking it had all been artfully arranged.
But it didn’t matter. Not when she was with Owen.
A slight trickle of dread struck her as she stared at the ceiling. She had been a fool before in placing her affections with the wrong man. The fact she had given herself to Owen now—
But before the thought could even enter her mind, his strong, sure arm came around her, and she turned and looked into his eyes, which were as steady and unwavering as ever.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, and her heart settled, knowing that if there was ever something she could trust in, it was him and all he had ever promised her.
“Of what is to come, I suppose,” she said. “For us, for my family, for the inn.”
“Well,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow, which only highlighted the strength within his biceps muscle. “For us, I suppose marriage comes first, and as quickly as possible. Then, assuming we have time, we will return home together. I will see what the army has in store for me, and while I may have to hide you away with one of your sisters while I am gone, from there we begin our life together. How does that sound to you?”
“Wonderful,” she said with a small smile, feeling a twinge of sadness. “Except the part where you leave.”
“I know, love,” he said, placing his index finger under her chin to tilt her head back up to him. “But I will always return.”
She nodded, bending to kiss his finger.
“And as for your family, Iris and Westwood should hopefully be able to return home now, I would say, as it doesn’t seem as though Comtois had any further communication with the French, considering he seemed to act alone. We shall hear news from the General soon regarding what knowledge of Westwood remains in France. Your parents have likely lost their inn for good, but between four noble sons-in-law, I am sure we can take care of them.”
“Can you believe it?” Violet asked, shaking her head, “That all of us would marry so well? My father has likely never had a greater thrill in his life. Why, my parents will have nothing else to speak of when they meet someone new.”
Owen chuckled at that.
“I’d best be going before someone discovers me,” he said. “Though I’m sure Iris is already well aware of all that has gone on, however, that might be.”
“Iris knows all,” Violet said with a shrug, as she had come to accept the fact some time ago.
“Goodnight, Violet,” Owen said after collecting his clothes and haphazardly dressing. He bent to place a kiss on her forehead.
“Goodnight, Owen,” she said, the smile not leaving her face as he walked out of the room.
* * *
And so Owen found himself two days later sitting with the three men who were married to the other Tavners sisters.
Once the initial business had been taken care of, they had all absconded to Dorchester’s estate, which he and Marigold called home, a half day’s ride from Southwold. Dorchester was actually surprisingly hospitable, and while Owen hadn’t been opposed to the rooms at the Reydon inn, he couldn’t say he didn’t welcome the plush beds and servants eager to make their stay comfortable.
If he did have a request, it would have been to have the ability to stay with Violet, but they would still have a few weeks’ wait until the banns could be read in Southwold’s church, where the Tavners family were parishioners.
“Tavners has put himself in this situation,” Dorchester began after they had each taken a seat upon the chocolate-brown mahogany leather furniture in his library, brandies in hand. “If it wasn’t for his daughters…”
“I understand that, truly I do,” Greenwich said, leaning forward. “And all four of them have spent their lives working to manage that inn. Once they were old enough, I’m not sure the man lifted much of a finger.”
“All he managed to do was lose all the money the family made,” Dorchester said with a snort, and Westwood nodded in agreement.
“It was why he agreed to marry Violet off,” Westwood said. “He could no longer afford to pay his debts. If he sold it, he could never have made enough to support himself and his wife for the rest of their lives.”
“We cannot very well leave him to fend for himself,” Owen finally said. “Look, I know I’m not a member of the family — yet — but they would be left with nothing.”
“I don’t think any of us would like to see that,” Greenwich
agreed. “But perhaps we make him sweat a bit? Wait a few days before letting him know what we’ve decided?”
“It’s only fair,” Westwood said with a grin, and Owen rubbed a hand against his beard.
“Whatever you think,” he said. “But what is your plan?”
“He still owns the land the ruined inn sits upon,” Greenwich said, twining his fingers together. “We could allow him to keep his manhood intact. We pay out his debt and buy the land from him, with the stipulation that he uses it to buy himself a cottage for him and his wife.”
“And what do we do with the land?” Westwood asked, looking intrigued at what Greenwich had in mind.
“We rebuild the inn,” Greenwich said with a smile. “We’d have to hire people to look after it, of course, to manage it and work there, but it could be an intriguing little business. We know four women who could provide plenty of advice. What do you think?”
“I don’t mind the idea,” said Dorchester with a shrug, “on one condition.”
“The women agree,” Owen finished for him with a bit of a laugh, and at that, they all chuckled before bringing their glasses together to celebrate the terms of their agreement.
* * *
“Fire,” Violet said to Owen later that evening as they sat next to the hearth in matching chairs slightly distanced from her family, “is said to be cleansing. Meaning that, sometimes, it is what is needed for something new to grow in its place.”
“Wise words,” Owen responded as he took another sip of his drink.
It was rather odd, Violet thought, the lot of them sitting around doing nothing but drinking tea and brandy, and eating pastries and all manner of delightful meals. They had spent their entire lives in motion, doing one thing or another, and all of this sitting was beginning to grate on Violet. She wondered if it bothered her sisters in the same way.
“It does,” Daisy had said when she asked as much, “but I have learned how, for the most part, to keep myself busy. Vi, it will soon be the same for you.”
“It is rather odd to consider such a thing,” Violet said now, and Owen looked at her questioningly.
“I was just thinking that soon I will have nothing to do,” she explained, and he chuckled.
“Not to worry, there is always much to entertain oneself with,” he said. “I am not one to be idle either. And now, Violet, your days will be full of work — or leisure — of your own choosing, and no one else’s.”
She smiled and looked down at her lap where a book rested, waiting for her to pick it up. She looked forward to it — she had already scoured Lord Dorchester’s extensive library — but for now, she was content in conversing with the man who would soon be her husband.
“It’s rather odd,” she said, “that I hardly knew you but a short time ago, and now we are to be married.” She laughed, soft and low. “And to think that I never thought it would be possible for me. That I would have married Linus, with the idea that that’s all there would ever be for me.”
“Then thank goodness I came along,” Owen said with a grin, and Violet smiled back, though she was all serious now.
“Thank goodness you did.”
“I love you, Violet.”
“And I you, Owen.”
When they joined hands, Violet knew she would never let go.
Epilogue
July, 1818
“Can you believe it?” Daisy asked, her voice just above a whisper. “It is almost surreal.”
They stood on the sand in front of the newly built Wild Rose Inn as the waves lapped the shore behind them. Violet figured they must have created quite a picture, the four of them, now ladies dressed in their finery, standing in a line looking up at the newly refinished brick building.
It retained a similar feel to the original, but now incorporated the styles of the day. Their husbands had wasted no time in rebuilding the inn, and while they had not been frugal about it, they also had been sensible. They were building an inn on the seaside, not a noble estate.
“It’s rather amazing, isn’t it?” Iris asked. “Here we are, ladies each and every one of us, and yet we are back where we started — the inn where we worked ourselves ragged.”
“I think that might be a bit of an exaggeration, Iris,” Marigold said, but Iris shook her head to silence her.
“I do miss it sometimes,” Violet said softly, and they all turned to look at her in surprise. “The place, not the work. Do you not?” she asked. “We had so many memories in our original inn. No matter where we are now, this is where we came from.”
“That’s true,” Daisy said with a nod. “The inn made us who we are.”
They shared a smile then and hooked their hands together as they walked toward the doors that led to a spacious courtyard that overlooked the sea beyond.
It was beautiful, and the hope was to attract visitors looking to spend some time near the sea.
“Ladies,” the Duke of Greenwich said as he held the door open for them. “Looking lovely, as always.” He stooped to place a kiss on Daisy’s nose, and she smiled up prettily at him.
“It is lovely in here,” Marigold said as she looked around the guests’ sitting room, which now overlooked the ocean instead of the road behind. “I shan’t want to leave.”
“Well, leave you must,” Owen said, entering the room. “For I expect this place will soon be full of guests looking to enjoy all that beautiful Southwold has to offer.”
“Run by the most experienced innkeepers in the business,” Elias Tavners said, joining them and raising a glass.
Violet smiled as she looked around at her family, together once more. Since the fire, her father had, surprisingly, been somewhat responsible with the income he earned, for now, he knew it was limited. He was living off of the benevolence of his sons-in-law, who owned the inn he now managed, at least for the time being.
“Come, my lady,” Owen said to her, holding out a hand, “Let me show you the greatest view in all of Southwold.”
Violet gladly took it as Owen led her over to the beautiful Venetian window overlooking the sea below.
“Are you happy?” he asked her, and she nodded.
“Very much so. I’m not sure that there is a woman in England who is happier to have this war with Napoleon over.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure there are many who share your sentiments. And many who are less fortunate than we are.”
Violet was silent for a moment as she considered the sober thought. She knew how lucky she was to have her husband returned home to her. Many women would never see their men again, lost to the horrors of war. There had been some long days and nights when she found herself sitting at the window, watching the road below as she waited for Owen to return, fear in her heart each and every time he was out on assignment.
He looked over at her now, accurately assessing her thoughts.
“I made you a promise,” he reminded her, placing a hand on her arm before slowly drawing her toward him. “I told you I would return home to you. And here we are.”
“Here we are,” she said, practically breathless as tears threatened.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered as he cupped her face and lowered his lips to hers. “For I’ve got you, Violet. Now and always.”
* * *
THE END
* * *
Dear reader,
I hope you have enjoyed reading the stories of the Tavners sisters as much as I loved writing them!
These books will always have a special place in my heart, as I wrote them just before and after the birth of my second son. While these are, of course, love stories, they also tell the story of the bond between sisters. I have two sisters of my own and they are two of the very closest people to me.
Of course, an honest review of A Viscount for Violet is greatly appreciated! I would also love to stay in touch with you. I send a newsletter a couple of times a month, which includes giveaways, new release information, updates, promos, recommended reads and more. Subscribers also receive one
of my regency romances, Unmasking a Duke, as a gift. You can sign up here.
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If you’d like a preview of The Duke She Wished For, the first book in my Happily Ever After series, continue reading.
With love,
Ellie
THE DUKE SHE WISHED FOR
HAPPILY EVER AFTER BOOK 1
PREVIEW
Begin the Happily Ever After series with the story of Tabitha and Nicholas…
Chapter 1
The creak of the shop’s front door opening floated through the heavy curtains that separated Tabitha’s workshop from the sales floor. She tensed over the silk ribbon she was attempting to fashion into a flower shape and waited for the sound of her stepsister Frances to greet whoever had just walked into the Blackmore Milliner shop.
She paused, waiting a little bit longer before pushing out a frustrated breath and standing. These velvet ribbon flowers she had learned to fashion were part of the reason Blackmore hats sat atop some of the finest female heads in polite society — she had a knack for creating new ways to adorn the same old bonnet or beaver hat styles so that a woman of a certain class stood out among her peers.
This ability was both a blessing and a curse, it turned out. Her creativity meant Tabitha brought customers through the front door, to the shop she and her father had built after her mother died when she was seven years old. It had brought Tabitha and her father, the baronet Elias Blackmore, closer together in their time of immeasurable grief, and the shop had flourished.
A Viscount for Violet: The Blooming Brides Book 4 Page 10