‘Would it?’
She relinquished the scissors at once. Anything was worth a try, she supposed, since there was no way to make any more of a mess than she already had. Then she squeezed her eyelids shut, listening in silence to the click of the scissors until she felt a brief tap on her shoulder. Nervously, she opened one eye, then both in amazement. Only a few minutes had passed, but she could scarcely believe the transformation. Eliza had trimmed what was left of her hair into a neat line around her chin. It looked and felt wonderful.
‘I feel so much lighter.’ She twisted her head, looking at it sideways in the mirror and marvelling at the cool feeling of air on her neck. ‘Thank you.’
‘It suits you, miss.’ Eliza smiled shyly. ‘Not that it wasn’t nice before, but there was a lot of it. This shows up your cheekbones, too.’
Violet leaned forward, struggling to recognise herself in the mirror. Eliza was right, she did have cheekbones. They were high and sharp, though she’d never noticed them before. Briefly, she wondered what Lance would think of her new style before admonishing herself. What he thought didn’t matter. He wasn’t marrying her for what she looked like and she didn’t care for his opinion anyway. What mattered was what she thought of it—and she loved it.
‘Dinner will be ready soon.’ Eliza brushed a few errant strands from Violet’s shoulders. ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I noticed that you didn’t bring many dresses. Perhaps you’d like to wear one of the new ones?’
‘What new ones?’ She spun around on her stool in surprise.
‘The ones the master ordered from Newcastle. He had them specially made as a wedding present.’
‘For me?’
‘He’s not marrying anyone else, miss.’ Eliza giggled. ‘Mrs Gargrave says she thought she’d never see the day.’
‘Oh.’ Violet glanced towards the wardrobe. On the one hand, if the gowns were a wedding gift, then she could hardly wear them without implying something about her intentions. On the other hand, she had so few pretty dresses...
‘He must have had them made very quickly.’
‘I suppose so, miss, though I thought there must have been some mistake when they were delivered on account of their size... Oh!’ Eliza put her hand to her mouth quickly. ‘I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘That’s all right.’ Violet smiled reassuringly. The maid looked so mortified that it was impossible to be angry. Besides, she’d come to another realisation out in the maze. She was small. That was a fact. There was no point in being offended by the truth so she might as well try to embrace it. And if the dresses had been specially made, then it wasn’t as if they were going to fit anyone else. She might as well take a look at them. Surely there couldn’t be any harm in that?
She opened the wardrobe with a building sense of anticipation. Inside were two new dresses beside her own drab ones, one day gown and one evening gown. The day gown was a sombre dark grey, perfectly suitable for a woman in mourning, but the evening gown...
She let out a gasp. It was a bright azure blue, silken and shoulderless, gathered at the back in the latest fashion, with a trim of delicate, white lace around the sleeves and hem. Her father had never allowed her to wear anything remotely fashionable or luxuriant, let alone silk, and the temptation to try it on was overwhelming.
‘I think the captain must have ordered that for when you came out of mourning, miss.’ Eliza sounded vaguely apologetic. ‘Though it seems a shame for it to just sit there.’
Violet gave a murmur of assent, too busy stroking her hands over the fabric to answer. If she followed the rules of etiquette, then it would be another eleven months before she was out of mourning and allowed to wear it, but today she didn’t want to follow rules or be respectful either. Her father had made her feel colourless for long enough. Eliza was right. It was a waste to hide away something so beautiful. No matter what her wearing it might suggest, Lance could hardly criticise her for wearing something that he’d bought! He could hardly criticise anyone for being rebellious either.
‘I’ll wear it tonight.’ She pulled it out of the wardrobe decisively.
‘But...’ Eliza took one look at her face and bit her tongue. ‘Yes, miss. Would you like a bath before dinner, Mrs Gargrave wanted to know?’
‘Yes, please. And Eliza?’ She called out as the maid headed for the door. ‘I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention my haircut downstairs. I’d like it to be a surprise.’
Chapter Eight
Violet made her way purposefully down the staircase, moving quickly so that she wouldn’t change her mind. Her new gown rustled as she walked, but it fitted perfectly, surprisingly so given that most dressmakers seemed unable to accept the accuracy of her measurements and generally made her dresses a couple of inches too long. Somehow Captain Amberton had managed to order one of exactly the right length. How? Surely he couldn’t have remembered her height from five years ago. She would have assumed that he’d asked someone her size, but who?
‘Good evening.’ She passed Mrs Gargrave in the hallway. ‘Is Captain Amberton in the drawing room?’
‘He’s in the dining room, miss,’ a footman answered as the housekeeper gaped at her speechlessly. ‘Dinner’s ready to be served.’
‘Thank you.’
She gave a polite nod and swept on, hearing a muffled exclamation of outrage in her wake, though she didn’t have time to dwell on it. The door to the dining room was open and she could already see Lance standing inside. He was leaning against the chimney breast, dressed in a pair of form-fitting black trousers, matching leather boots, a crisp white shirt and perfectly tailored jacket. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought him the very model of genteel respectability. He wasn’t even holding a drink.
She paused in the doorway, lifting her chin and pulling her shoulders back before announcing herself. ‘Good evening, Lance.’
‘Violet.’ He glanced up and then did an abrupt double take, his gaze flickering first over her hair and then down to her gown. ‘You look...different.’
‘Oh.’ She couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It wasn’t quite the compliment she’d been hoping for. ‘I wanted a change.’
‘Evidently.’ His gaze travelled back to hers and held, though his expression was unreadable. ‘That colour suits you. I thought that it might.’
‘Eliza said you ordered the gown from Newcastle. Thank you.’
He inclined his head. ‘I thought I ought to get you something as a wedding present.’
‘I’m afraid I’ve shocked Mrs Gargrave.’
‘It doesn’t take much.’
She still couldn’t read his expression. ‘Are you shocked, too?’
‘A little.’ He smiled finally, though his gaze never left hers. ‘Though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I quite like to be shocked sometimes.’
‘What about my hair?’ She felt nervous asking. ‘Do you like that?’
He raised a hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully. ‘Do you know, the first time I saw you I thought you looked like a kitten. I wanted to pat you on the head. Now I do even more.’
A kitten? She felt a wave of dismay. How many more ways were there of calling her helpless?
‘You are not patting me on the head.’
‘Then I promise I won’t, no matter how tempted I am, but for the record, I approve. Wholeheartedly, in fact.’
‘Because I look like a kitten?’ She couldn’t conceal the resentment in her voice, and he arched an eyebrow.
‘I meant it as a compliment. Kittens are generally considered quite sweet.’
‘They’re small and timid.’
‘Ah.’ His eyes flashed with a look of understanding. ‘You’re right. But kittens grow into cats. Beautiful, sleek ones with claws, and we’ve already established that you have those.’
She made a harrumphing soun
d, only partially mollified, and he laughed. ‘Not good enough? All right then, Violet, you look quite scandalously beautiful tonight. That hairstyle suits you.’
‘Thank you.’ Her cheeks flushed at the compliment. No one in her whole life had ever called her beautiful before, nor looked at her with such obvious appreciation—no one except him five years before when she’d thought he’d been mocking her. Was he mocking her now? She peered up at him from under her lashes. No, amazingly enough, he didn’t look as though he was.
‘More importantly,’ he continued, ‘do you like it?’
‘Yes. I never realised how heavy my hair was before. I always felt like it was dragging me down, but I never realised how much. It’s as though I can finally move.’
‘Then I approve even more. Did you do it yourself?’
‘Yes, but it looked awful. Eliza fixed it.’
‘Remind me to raise her wages. She might make an excellent ladies’ maid. If you decide to stay, that is.’ He held out a chair for her to sit down. ‘Now I hope that you’re hungry. Cook has provided a feast.’
‘Have they finally forgiven us in the kitchens, then?’
‘It appears so. We’ll just have to eat everything or they might never cook for us again.’ He picked up a bottle from the centre of the table. ‘I didn’t know what you’d care to drink. I thought maybe lemonade?’
‘I’ll have some wine, thank you.’ She smiled at his look of surprise.
‘I thought that you didn’t approve?’
‘My father didn’t approve. I’ve never tried. I’d like to have a taste before I make up my mind.’
‘Very well.’ He put the lemonade down and picked up a different bottle, pouring a splash into her glass.
‘I thought you didn’t like half measures?’ She gave him a pointed look.
‘Touché.’ His lips quirked as he poured again. ‘I admire your good taste. This is a particularly fine claret. Is that sufficient?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
She reached for the glass and took a tentative sip. The wine had a far mellower taste than Mr Rowlinson’s brandy and made her stomach feel pleasantly fuzzy. She took a few more mouthfuls.
‘Strictly speaking it’s meant to be savoured, not gulped.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘Trust me, when it comes to alcohol I’m an expert.’
‘Oh.’ She took another mouthful and let the wine sit on her tongue for a few seconds before swallowing. Instantly the flavour seemed richer and more intense.
‘You know your hair really does suit you.’ He sat down opposite. ‘I like it more and more.’
She peered across the table suspiciously. ‘You don’t have to say that.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ve already said that I’ll consider your offer.’
‘I know that, too.’ He reached for his own glass. ‘Do you think that I’m trying to charm you?’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘I was simply offering a compliment based on fact. That’s allowed, isn’t it?’
‘Just as long as it’s honest.’
‘I’ve told you before, Violet, I’m many things, but not a liar.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She watched as he filled his own glass to the brim. ‘I just tend to assume...’ She bit her lip. She didn’t want to say what she tended to assume. She didn’t want to think that way any more, but old habits were hard to break.
‘That I’m lying because I’m a fortune hunter and wouldn’t dream of giving you a compliment otherwise?’
She winced at his bluntness. ‘I suppose so.’
‘You have so little confidence in yourself, then?’ He put the bottle down with a thud. ‘You know, sometimes I wish I’d hit your father when I had the chance.’
‘So do I.’
Both of his eyebrows shot up, though whatever response he was about to make faded as two maids entered the room carrying bowls of steaming Julienne soup.
‘This looks delicious.’ Violet licked her lips with anticipation. ‘I feel famished. It’s funny, but ever since I got here I’ve felt as though I could eat a horse.’
‘You could do to eat a couple.’
‘Father never let me eat much. He said it wasn’t ladylike.’ She swallowed a spoonful and sighed with pleasure. The soup was so delicious that she was half tempted to pick the bowl up and drink. ‘I feel as though I’ve been hungry my whole life. Now I want to make up for lost time.’
‘Then I’ll stop pestering you with conversation and let you enjoy. I do believe Cook will be very pleased.’
They ate in companionable silence, finishing off a first course of baked salmon before the arrival of braised beef, roast potatoes, parsnips, carrots and peas. Violet ate it all up with relish. She wanted to make up for lost time in so many ways. Food was just the beginning. If she could only have her freedom...
She studied Lance surreptitiously across the table. He’d said he was prepared to give her just that if she married him and the idea was becoming more and more tempting. He wasn’t the beast she’d thought he was, the house was captivating and she’d already made a friend in Eliza.
There was just one important question that needed answering, one that had been playing on her mind all afternoon, the very last one she wanted to ask aloud, but one that needed asking none the less. He’d said that their marriage would be one of convenience, a way of helping each other out, but how much freedom would he allow her really? How much of a marriage would it be? Given his reputation, how much of a real marriage did he want? And how could she possibly ask?
‘You know, you really are full of surprises.’ Lance leaned back in his chair, watching her through hooded eyes as she scooped up her last spoonful of citrus ice. ‘I misjudged you the first time we met. I thought you were timid and unassuming, albeit with an occasional flash of those claws. I never imagined you were the kind of woman who’d run off over the moors on her own. It was brave of you.’
‘I thought you said it was childish?’
She gave him a pointed look and he made a face.
‘I was angry when I said that. I’m afraid my temper isn’t my most endearing quality.’
‘What is?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I never expected you to cut off all your hair and drink wine either.’
‘Sometimes appearances can be deceptive.’
‘Yes, they can. By the by, how did you enjoy your walk in the snow?’
‘Very much. I found the sword in the stone.’
‘Any success?’
‘Unfortunately not.’ She gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘It seems I’m not destined to be a queen.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. If you were, then I’d have to wait for you to propose.’
‘But then I wouldn’t need to marry you. I’d already have my freedom.’
‘Then I’m doubly glad. I won’t call you Guinevere after all.’
‘Good. I always felt sorry for her.’
‘For Guinevere?’
‘Yes. In the stories, her husband—’ she avoided saying the name Arthur ‘—was always putting her on trial and then leaving it to Lancelot to save her. It was no wonder she preferred him.’
‘I never thought of it that way.’ He looked faintly amused. ‘So you think she loved him because he rescued her?’
‘Not necessarily. Maybe she never wanted to marry Ar—that is, her husband in the first place. But I always thought it was a tragic love story. Lancelot had to do the honourable thing in the end and leave her.’
‘You wanted a different ending?’
‘I don’t know. I just thought she deserved a better husband.’
‘A lot of women do.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘Do you like reading?’
‘Yes, but...’ Her voice trailed away and he arched an eyebrow.
‘Let me guess. Your
father didn’t approve?’
She gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘He chose what I read, although I had a few of my mother’s old books for a while. I found them in a chest in one of the guest chambers and read them all in a month. There was Malory and Marvell and Thackeray and Richardson, too, I remember, but when Father found out he took them away. I don’t know why, or what he did with them.’
‘Well, feel free to read whatever books you want while you’re here.’ He looked at her broodingly. ‘Speaking of your being here, have you given any more thought to my proposal?’
‘I have.’ She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. ‘I just have a few questions.’
‘Such as?’
This time she picked up the glass and took a fortifying mouthful, starting to understand why he liked alcohol so much. It made certain subjects easier. ‘I was wondering about...bedrooms.’
‘Bedrooms.’ He repeated the word quizzically. ‘What about them?’
‘If I stay, will I keep the room I’m in now?’
‘If you wish.’
‘So I—we—wouldn’t move back into the old family quarters?’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but you can choose whichever bedroom you like.’
‘Oh...’ She faltered. Didn’t he know what she was trying to ask? He was supposed to be a libertine! Surely she didn’t have to come straight out and say it? But apparently she did... She cleared her throat with embarrassment.
‘Would we share it?’
‘Share what?’
‘The bedroom?’
A pair of dark eyebrows rose upwards in unison. ‘Would you want to?’
‘No!’ She felt her cheeks flare a vivid shade of crimson. She was trying to understand what he wanted, not saying what she did!
‘Forgive me...’ he sat up a little straighter ‘...but given your upbringing...’
‘You didn’t expect me to think of it?’ She willed her face to cool down, although it seemed determined to do the opposite. ‘I probably never would have, but my friend Ianthe and her husband are very...affectionate. She’s told me a few details as well.’
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