by Jane Ashford
It was a nice little craft, sixteen feet long with a mast in the center, already rigged and waiting. He raised the sail, letting it flap in the breeze as he loosed the mooring lines and took the rudder. Gauging the wind, he tightened the sail and eased them away from the dock. When they cleared the end, he pulled the sheet tauter. The boat tilted and sped up, water hissing along the wood. He saw Violet grip the gunwale and lean away from the side skimming nearest the water. He kept them steady, not letting the craft heel over as much as he would have if alone.
His reward was to see her gradually lose her nervousness. Slowly, her grip eased. She sat straighter. She raised her head to the wind. Finally, she turned and smiled at him. “It’s like flying.”
He nodded, smiling back, and their gaze held. He was delighted that she shared this pleasure with him. And how lovely she looked, out here on the water. The wind had whipped color into her cheeks. Her sandy hair leaped and curled around her face. And her gray eyes shimmered and sparkled. Violet’s beauty—for it was undoubtedly beauty—arose from animation, he realized. When she was subdued and distant, as she’d always been when he saw her before their marriage, it was hidden. A secret, like the flower she was named for, obscured by broader leaves in the forest. But now, and last night, he’d discovered a different Violet—vibrant, responsive. Watching her laugh as spray spattered her sleeve, he felt extremely fortunate. His instincts had somehow led him to a prize. He’d chosen Violet, married the proper young lady in good faith. This vital woman was an unanticipated bonus.
Violet noticed that Nathaniel’s blue eyes were flaming again, as they had last night. Sailing rather reminded her of that marvelous interlude in the bedchamber. They were together, skimming along in a breathless balance. He handled the boat with easy mastery. She could let go and revel in the pleasure of it. It was glorious. If only they could be transported from here back into the bedroom, all in an instant. Even though it was midmorning and quite an improper time for… Her cheeks grew hot. His gaze seemed to reach into all her most tender places. She couldn’t look away. How glad she was that her friend Jane had been right about the delicious possibilities of marriage.
A puff of wind rattled the sail and pushed the boat farther over. Violet gasped and clung to the gunwale again. Nathaniel corrected course, and the tilt eased. The wind was a bit stronger out here in the center of the lake, where it was quite deep. He needed to pay attention. “Don’t worry,” he said as he loosed the line and shifted to a different tack. “We’re quite safe.”
The boat bucked, and she laughed. “I’m not worried. I was just…startled.” She rubbed her arms.
“Are you cold? Put on the shooting jacket.”
She did so. It was much too large for her. She rolled back the sleeves to free her hands. Her hair whipped across her face, and as she pushed it back, she laughed again. Nathaniel’s heart lifted at the sound.
“You’re very good with the boat,” Violet said.
“I learned to sail as a boy, at Langford. Father taught us all.”
“All of your brothers?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have a larger boat?”
“What? Oh.” Nathaniel laughed. “We couldn’t all go out at once. Indeed, as soon as we were all old enough, it was a regular melee vying for a turn. I had to set up a rota—”
“You did? Not your father?”
“He was rather busy. And I’m the eldest.”
Violet nodded. He automatically took the responsibility, she noticed.
“They would try to sneak around it,” Nathaniel reminisced with a smile. “Once, Robert slipped out after dinner and sailed all the way to the center of the lake—the one at Langford is much larger than this. Then the wind died and left him drifting far from shore. It was hours before anyone heard him shouting.”
Violet looked around. The breeze seemed steady. “If the wind dies…?”
“It won’t,” Nathaniel assured her. “Not today. And we have oars with us.” He pointed to a pair lashed near his feet. “Robert did not. I had to row out and fetch him.”
“You did? Why not some servant?”
Nathaniel looked confused for a moment. “Well, I had set up the schedule.”
It didn’t occur to him to push the task off on someone else, Violet realized. Duty was simply engrained in him. She found it admirable, but…did he take it a bit too far?
They skimmed across the water, occasionally veering from one angle to another. Violet enjoyed the dip of the boat and the speed, but after a while she began to tire of the sun and the wind in her face. It made no sense. She was only sitting. But still she felt weary. “Shall we go back?” she asked finally, when it seemed that Nathaniel could sail all day.
He started, as if he’d been far away. “Of course.”
He turned the boat, but not toward the little dock, now some distance away. When Violet wondered at it, he explained that they had to “beat against the wind.” This appeared to mean that they could not go directly back. They had to sail far to the left of the dock, and then to the right, and then back again, moving only marginally closer with each sweep. So while they had raced out, they crept back. And Violet began to be a little bored, as well as tired, and hungry. “Must we return to the dock?” she asked after another long diagonal run. “Couldn’t we just land anywhere?” She gestured to the closest curve of shore.
“You’d be up to your knees in mud if you tried to step out there.”
Violet thought she could endure muddy shoes to be back on the dryish land a tantalizing fifteen feet away. She was already blown to pieces, with a touch of headache from the sun. “Perhaps I could jump over it,” she suggested.
“When one takes out a boat, one must return it to its mooring,” her new husband replied.
It sounded like a quote—like a rule from above. Like the sort of thing Violet’s grandmother might say, had she ever said anything about boats. Violet subsided in defeat as the craft turned again in what seemed a nonsensical direction.
When at last Nathaniel tied the lines and offered her a hand to step out, the romance of sailing had diminished in Violet’s mind. And it seemed as if she could actually hear her grandmother’s sarcastic voice, informing her that the headache was her own fault. She wouldn’t have it if she’d worn a hat. “Yes, all right!” she said.
Nathaniel looked up from securing the sail. “What?”
Violet flushed, embarrassed that she’d spoken aloud. “Nothing.” She turned and started toward the house. The next time she went out sailing—if she did—she would suggest turning back a bit sooner.
* * *
To crown it all, Renshaw had a great deal to say about the state of her hair when she reached her room, and Violet came back downstairs full of vexation. The wild desire to make a change beat in her once again. She went to the back parlor to work on her lists, but couldn’t settle to it. Instead, she stood by the window and looked out over the lush gardens. When Nathaniel came in sometime later, words burst from her. “We should make plans.” It came out far too abruptly.
Nathaniel looked at the pile of papers on the writing table. “Plans?”
“We are embarking on a whole new stage of life. There are so many things to decide.”
That sounded like more duties and tasks piled onto those already on his plate. “There’s plenty of time for that.”
It wasn’t new for him, Violet realized. His life would be much the same. It was she who had been magically transformed from an “innocent girl” to a married woman with far greater social freedom. People would tell her the juiciest gossip. Once she’d acquired a new wardrobe as flattering as the gown she’d worn last night, everyone would see her differently too. Of course, if she was ever to be free… “I am going to dismiss Renshaw.”
“Really? I thought she had been with you for many years.”
“She has. That’s the problem. She argues with me constantly.”
Nathaniel looked concerned. “Still, old family retainers—”
“I shall give her a very generous pension.” She had the power to do that now. And clothes, Violet thought. She would give Renshaw all the horrid dresses that Grandmamma had forced her to buy and Renshaw had forced her to wear. Let her don those shapeless masses of ruffles and see how she liked it. Or Renshaw could sell them. Even with their dowdiness, they were worth a good deal. Violet didn’t care. And if Renshaw wished to continue in service, no doubt Grandmamma would find her a position, or give her one. They agreed on everything. “I want a proper dresser, someone younger, who knows all the latest fashions.”
“I didn’t think you cared very much about fashion,” Nathaniel replied.
How could a perfectly nice man be so heedlessly cruel? Violet wondered. Did he not see what this simple question implied about her appearance? The threat of tears burned in her eyes, and she ruthlessly suppressed them. She supposed it was some consolation that he saw it as a choice. She dressed like a frump because she cared nothing for fashion.
Violet took a deep breath. She couldn’t actually blame him. Why would anyone think she cared for fashion when they observed the clothes chosen by her grandmother? It was all part of the false persona enveloping her like an oppressive mask. Nobody knew what she really cared about; sometimes it was hard to know herself. “We should go to Brighton,” she said. She hadn’t meant to push for it again so soon. It had just popped out.
Nathaniel gazed at her as if trying to puzzle something out. “We’d just be on display there. It’s much more relaxing…”
Violet wanted to display a whole new character. She couldn’t wait to do so. “There’s so much going on in Brighton. Dances and evening parties and sea bathing.” She wanted to try everything—savor and indulge and discover why certain activities were thought to be so improper. Not that she would stray far beyond the line, of course. But her grandmother’s idea of improper was obviously antiquated.
“The best lodgings will all be taken,” Nathaniel pointed out.
“I know. You said that before. It doesn’t matter. Any place is fine.”
“You can’t really think that any—”
“Oh, Nathaniel, don’t you want to enjoy every moment of life?” She had to throw out her arms. She barely kept herself from spinning in a circle.
His answering look was bemused; his reply remained noncommittal. How would she convince him that they simply must go?
* * *
A packet of letters arrived later that day, and Nathaniel retreated to a small sitting room to read them. As he’d asked not to be disturbed, he was surprised by a knock on the door. And even more startled when Renshaw entered without waiting for his reply. The lady’s maid didn’t apologize for the intrusion. Indeed, she looked quite truculent as she stood before him, hands folded at her waist. “Her ladyship is attempting to dismiss me,” she said.
She seemed to expect a particular response. Nathaniel didn’t know what to say. It was natural for her to be upset, he supposed, but it wasn’t really his affair. And what did she mean, “attempting to”?
“That is out of the question,” Renshaw continued. “Lady Violet—Lady Hightower, I should say—is wayward and flighty. She requires mature guidance. Which I have always provided to her. I cannot be spared.”
Despite his noble birth, Nathaniel was by no means high-nosed. He rarely thought about his social position. But now he was stunned. He couldn’t believe a servant was speaking to him in this way about his wife. “I beg your pardon?”
Renshaw looked at him as if he were slow. “You need to tell her that I am staying on, my lord.”
Even more astonished by her commanding air, Nathaniel shook his head. “I shall do no such thing. Why would I?”
Renshaw’s lined face creased further in a frown. “Then I’ll go straight to her ladyship’s grandmother,” she replied. “I’ll be obliged to tell her the whole.”
She said it as if it were a practiced threat. And in a way, Nathaniel felt the force of her words. Violet’s grandmother was formidable. She’d been a burden on their courtship in many ways. But now they were married. The old woman lived far away. She wasn’t a significant factor in their lives any longer.
“She will be quite angry,” Renshaw added, with a kind of gleeful malice.
And all in a moment, Nathaniel got a deeper sense of Violet’s previous life. She’d lived—all the time—with the dowager countess, not simply encountered her now and then. And it appeared that she’d been saddled with a personal servant devoted to her grandmother’s interests rather than her own. Sympathy rose in him at the thought of this petty domestic tyranny. It became obvious why Violet wished to dismiss the woman. “It is completely up to Lady Hightower who serves her,” he answered. “I have nothing to say in the matter.”
Renshaw blinked as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“I will arrange for a carriage tomorrow to take you—”
“Directly to Moreley, to her grandmother,” Renshaw put in, as if this might change his mind.
Nathaniel had never been interrupted by a servant in his life. The experience silenced him for an instant. Then he considered withdrawing the offer of a carriage, which was actually quite generous. Most employers would have merely paid for a ticket on the stage. “If you like,” he said coldly then.
“She’ll hear all about this,” Renshaw repeated. She couldn’t seem to comprehend how little he cared.
Nathaniel nodded. “You may go,” he said.
Renshaw looked positively grim. Clearly she was not accustomed to being treated as a…servant. She swept out in a swirl of black skirts.
If Violet wanted to go to Brighton, Nathaniel thought when the sour maid was gone, then by God they would go to Brighton. After living for years with that harpy—and her grandmother—she should have something she wanted. He remembered the way her eyes had flashed when she spoke of enjoying life—so urgent, so animated. He understood it far better now. Nathaniel rose and fetched pen and paper to compose a note to his father’s man of business about finding lodgings in the seaside town.
When it was written and sent off, he looked for Violet to give her the news. The way her face lit confirmed his decision, though he was startled when she twirled in a circle in full view of one of the footmen. “We’ll have such a splendid time,” she said. She was like a child granted some unexpected treat. Her gray eyes positively sparkled.
Nathaniel eased her into a nearby parlor, closing the door on the young servitor, who appeared to be fighting a grin.
“When will we go?” Violet asked.
“As soon as Herndon finds us rooms.”
“Will that take a long while?” She felt suddenly anxious. “You thought there would be none left.”
“He is extremely efficient. He will discover something.”
“Of course he will.” Violet threw out her arms, unable to stay still. She couldn’t remember an occasion when one of her wishes had been so easily granted. “I feel like Cinderella,” she said. As a girl, she’d never tired of the transformation—from despised slavey to adored princess.
“Just for a trip to the seaside?” Nathaniel looked amused.
Abruptly, Violet felt foolish and, oddly, more naked than when she’d shed her gauze nightdress last night. “Oh, well…” She fumbled for the cool persona that had long shielded her from hurt. How had she allowed it to slip so far?
Nathaniel’s expression changed, and she couldn’t interpret it, which was worrisome. “What…what is your favorite fairy tale?” she blurted out, and then nearly buried her face in her hands. Why had she said something so idiotic?
“Ah…hmm…perhaps…Bluebeard,” said her new husband.
“What?”
Nathaniel wiggled his eyebrows like a stage villain, then spoke in a deep, ominous tone. “Have I told you about the tower chamber at Langford that you must never enter?”
A gust of laughter dissipated Violet’s unease. “No, you haven’t.”
“Not something to mention befo
re the wedding,” he intoned.
“Also, there is no tower at Langford.”
Nathaniel cocked his head and shrugged. “Ah, true. Cellar chamber, I should have said.”
“Should you?”
“Down the darkest, dankest corridor. Where the black beetles, er, flourish. And the ring of keys, which you must never touch, hangs—”
“In the housekeeper’s room. She’s shown them all to me. And she would never tolerate even one black beetle.”
“Unless she is…” Nathaniel paused, shrugged again, and looked rueful. “No, she wouldn’t. My imagination doesn’t run that far.”
Violet smiled up at him, grateful for the diversion. “I begin to see where your brothers learned to play pranks, ‘my lord.’”
“Hardly learned. Where is the finesse in a molting wolf skin?”
“Well, I shall always remember it with fondness. When I opened that door…”
Their eyes met, and Violet could see that he too was recalling the moment when he’d stood naked before her. It burned in his blue eyes. “I do owe them a debt of gratitude for that,” he murmured, stepping closer.
Four
The Viscount and Viscountess Hightower arrived in Brighton two weeks later. This late in June the summer season was well under way, and the news was duly conveyed to the Prince Regent via the daily list he received, alerting him to any additions to society in the enclave he had done so much to make fashionable. It spread from there around the town, and a number of summer denizens noted that bride visits were in order. Tradition and politeness and sheer curiosity mandated such visits, though not much was expected from the newly married pair, both well known to the haut ton. Emily Cowper had once described Nathaniel as “so terribly worthy,” and many thought Violet insipid and possibly a bit stupid. Still, it was the done thing, and servants were dispatched to discover the Hightowers’ Brighton address.
The Langfords’ canny man of business had managed to find them a set of apartments, though they were well back from the sea. As Nathaniel had warned, all lodgings on the fashionable Marine Parade and in the Steine were long since taken. But Herndon had unearthed a pleasant spot on the upper floor of a spacious dwelling, high enough to catch breezes from the water and much less noisy than the more coveted locations. Nathaniel and Violet found themselves with a large parlor and two commodious bedchambers separated by a dressing room, with servants’ quarters at the top of the house. The rooms were decorated in light blues and greens, with airy draperies and comfortable furnishings. Their landlady occupied the first floor and basement and provided meals for an extra charge.