by Jane Ashford
“Not even your mother or your sisters?”
“Mama is excessively relieved to have all her children married off and her social duties done,” was the acid reply. “She never leaves Shropshire now. She told me straight out that she is finished exerting herself for her ‘offspring.’”
Could mothers…abdicate? Violet wondered. Yet hers had done even less.
“And my sisters are busy with their own concerns. I…” Marianne looked away. “They were made to feel that I had outdone them in the…the Marriage Mart. I’m afraid they might be glad, in a way.”
“Surely not!”
“It doesn’t matter,” muttered Marianne, reacting to the sympathy in Violet’s face. “I am finished worrying about Anthony and why he is the way he is and…oh, all of it. I am going to enjoy myself! Why would you deny me that?”
“It isn’t me. I don’t deny you anything.”
“If you refuse to help me, you do,” she declared.
“That’s not fair, Marianne!”
“Ah, ladies telling secrets,” insinuated a deep, caressing voice.
Violet turned to find that the Prince Regent had descended upon them unawares. His large figure was resplendent in a scarlet brocade waistcoat; a cloud of scent wafted over them as they curtsied, again with overtones of fine brandy. “There is nothing more charming.” He gazed at Violet like a jeweler valuing a precious piece. “I’m so pleased you’re coming to the countess’s little tea, Lady Hightower. I was glad to offer the pavilion when she asked, of course. Worthy cause, you know, and I’m never averse to hosting the lovely ladies of Brighton. I shall come by to greet you all”—he fixed Violet with a knowing smile, as if he was about to hand over a treat she had requested—“and make good on my promise of a private tour,” he finished. With a complacent nod, he moved on.
Violet struggled to hide her dismay. It seemed her relief over the invitation had been premature.
“Violet? Will you come tomorrow?” Marianne said.
“What?”
“It’s just another walk, like before. Nothing more than that.”
“Oh, Marianne.”
“Do you want me to beg? I will if I must.”
“No, of course not. I don’t want…” She didn’t wish to be involved at all, Violet thought. And then wondered if this was just cowardice. What did she owe her friend? And what did helping her really mean?
“If you come, I’ll help you with the Regent,” Marianne murmured.
Violet stared at her.
“I’ll go to that tea with you and stick by your side every moment, so there is no opportunity for a ‘private tour.’ And I’ll tell you all the ways I’ve used to discourage unwanted male attentions.”
“I don’t know what you…”
“Oh, come, you aren’t going to go all missish about this?”
Violet slumped in defeat. “I didn’t mean to attract the Regent’s interest.”
“Well, of course you didn’t. Who would? But he never waits for encouragement.”
“How does one fend off a royal prince?”
“Will you walk with me?”
“Marianne!”
But her old friend merely waited for an answer.
The thought of an ally at the tea was so tempting. “Oh, very well.”
“Splendid. I’ll call for you at ten tomorrow.” She started to turn away.
“Wait! You have an invitation to the tea?”
“There will be no problem with that.”
Marianne hurried off before Violet could say more, and the deed was done. Violet might have gone after her. Or perhaps she wouldn’t have. But just then she noticed that Nathaniel was speaking to her grandmother, and she had to rush over to make sure he wasn’t setting up their expedition for the same time as the walk.
Eleven
“Your grandmother has agreed,” Nathaniel told Violet the following morning, holding up a folded note. “After a bit of cajoling. Our appointment is set for tomorrow morning.” She showed no reaction. “And Lady Dunstaple never receives visitors before noon; she said so when I was talking with them last night. She does not leave her bedchamber until then.” He waited once more. “I thought you would be glad,” he added.
“Oh! I am. I was just thinking about this tea at the pavilion. I mean…”
He waited, but she didn’t finish the sentence. He wasn’t certain why this particular event was occupying her mind. “If you’re interested in charities, my mother will be eager to recruit you,” he said.
“Does the duchess solicit donations for indigent gentlewomen?”
“I’m sure she would gladly contribute,” he replied with a smile. “But her chief cause is education for women—or girls, actually. She says that it is all very well to help people when they’re poor. And one should, of course. But if they had been educated when young, perhaps they wouldn’t be. Poor, that is.”
“An interesting view,” Violet said.
“She has established several boarding schools for girls without means. From all walks of life.”
“I’ll have to talk to her about them.”
“Be prepared to spend a good deal of time if you do.” Nathaniel softened what might have seemed like a criticism with another warm smile. He was pleased to see that he gained her full attention.
“Do you and your brothers help with them, too?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Mama feels that women should be in charge. As a model to the pupils, you see. Females hold all the positions of authority. She even found a woman blacksmith—”
“What?” Violet looked across the breakfast table in astonishment.
“To demonstrate that a woman can do any task, if necessary.”
“But…blacksmiths are always such big men.”
“I don’t believe any of the pupils has actually set up a forge,” Nathaniel said. “But Mama did say that some of the girls seemed to relish pounding the anvil with the hammer.” Seeing that Violet was trying not to smile, he continued, “It’s all right. She laughs about it herself.”
“I wonder why Sebastian didn’t ask her for ways to amuse his pesky girls,” Violet said then, taking a sip of her tea, then frowning at it as if it had gone cold. “It seems she must be an expert.”
“Indeed.” It would have made sense. Nathaniel shrugged. Sebastian hadn’t because Nathaniel’s brothers always asked him. That was why. And their mother would have posed a host of shrewd questions, and seen far more than Sebastian wished her to, and then more than likely told Sebastian to do it himself.
But Sebastian was far from any shops, and… Nathaniel enjoyed helping out. He acknowledged it. It was a pleasure to tick tasks off a list, to…bring order. He’d found a dealer who recognized the book Robert wanted, and arranged to have it sent. He’d ascertained from an experienced apothecary that there was no ointment to repel dogs. The man had thought the request… Eccentric was a kind word for it, he recalled with a smile.
He’d even discovered an admiral. He was rather proud of that, though it had been purely coincidental. Stopping on the beach to chat with a friend, he’d discovered that the man’s companion was high up in the navy. It came out as they discussed the merits of telescopes and their uses. Nathaniel had mentioned James’s naval career even before he knew the man’s occupation. And in the end, the fellow had agreed to write a letter on James’s behalf. It had been pure serendipity.
He was just as glad to go on this outing with Violet’s grandmother, even though before their wedding, the old woman had frankly scared him. The scheme they had formed together, the help he could give, made Violet feel even more like a family member.
He looked over at her. She seemed unusually pensive today, quite far away, in fact. She was gazing at the empty hearth as if it held mysteries. Her shawl trailed off the back of the chair to brush the floor, and her face was appealingly lovely.
The physical side of his marriage had turned out to be so much more satisfying than he’d anticipated, Nathaniel thought, a
ppreciating the way Violet’s gown skimmed the lines of her body. Not that he’d expected problems. But…he supposed, looking back, that he’d imagined it would be…ordinary. Or…he didn’t even know what he meant by that. He did know, however, that he’d been wrong.
Indeed, the whole marriage was more than he’d expected. Each day seemed to reveal new facets of this woman who’d once seemed so quiet and prim. A year ago he might not have described Violet as interesting. Now, he knew that she was fascinating.
“What is it?” she said.
“What is what?”
“You were looking at me strangely.”
“Admiringly,” he corrected. “Appreciatively. Is that strange?”
“Well…” She smiled at him. “Of course I must say no.”
“I was only thinking how much more captivating you are than you used to be.”
She cocked her head. “Is it a compliment when a gentleman praises one’s current self at the expense of one’s past personality?”
“I am going to assert that it is.”
“You scarcely have a choice.” Violet looked gratified nonetheless. “I wanted to…escape my bonds.” She extended her arms as if she wished she could spin in the chair. “Expand.”
“I always knew you’d be an exemplary duchess,” Nathaniel said, drawn toward her like iron to a lodestone. “Now I understand that you will be a splendid one.” He stood and went to pull her up as well.
“Oh, a duchess. That is what matters to you?”
He caught her in his arms and whirled her around as if they were waltzing. “I think we agree on the importance of our families. Their respect, our legacy. Yet I’ve also been granted the extraordinary gift of a duchess who is also a delectable woman.”
Violet’s eyes gleamed with tears.
“What have I said to make you cry?”
“Nothing, I just… I didn’t expect it either…to…”
Nathaniel found he was holding his breath, waiting for her next word.
But he never heard it. The parlor door opened at that moment to reveal Cates and Furness jostling for entry. Eschewing his customary correctness, Nathaniel’s valet won the contest by pushing Violet’s personal maid so sharply she nearly lost her balance. He marched ahead of her into the room. “I cannot have my arrangements…usurped,” he declared. “It is intolerable. Any proper abigail would be ashamed…”
Nathaniel and Violet stepped apart.
Furness hurried forward and stepped directly in front of the valet. “Mister Cates left the flatirons heating by the fire for more than an hour. He never came near them! I couldn’t wait any longer to press out your ladyship’s…”
Cates’s face had reddened further. “I set them out for my own purposes! You had no right to touch…”
“You can’t hoard the only set of flatirons in the house. Other people have work to do, and can’t wait on your worship’s convenience.”
The maid hadn’t quite mastered sarcasm, Nathaniel thought. It needed a lighter hand.
“Some people possess a modicum of consideration,” answered Cates in freezing accents, “and ask before they snatch up someone else’s things.”
Cates was better at it. It was ice versus fire.
“They aren’t yours,” began Furness.
“Enough,” said Nathaniel.
Both servants fell silent and looked abashed at their outburst.
“Must I set up a…schedule for use of the, er, flatirons?” he continued. He punctuated the query with raised brows and mild astonishment. As he’d hoped, the mere question, from him, made them see the error of their ways.
“Of course not, my lord,” said Cates, though he spoke through clenched teeth.
“No, my lord,” agreed Furness, dropping a curtsy.
“You can manage that yourselves?” he asked.
Cates actually blushed. It was the most emotion Nathaniel had ever seen from the man. Furness gazed at the floor. Both servants nodded without meeting his eyes.
“Good.”
The word was a dismissal, and the two went quickly out, hardly elbowing each other in the doorway at all.
“I don’t understand why they cannot get along,” said Violet when the door had shut behind them. She looked guilty. “Cates never quarreled with Renshaw.”
“He never had to work with her in cramped lodgings,” Nathaniel pointed out.
“That’s true.” She sighed. “Does Cates complain to you about her?”
“He has mentioned one or two things.”
“Furness, too. About Cates. I’m not sure what to do…”
“Leave them to work it out between themselves, as I hope I made clear.”
Violet looked thoughtful. “I suppose.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
“It’s only an idea about an idea,” Violet replied.
“A…what?”
She smiled at him. “I’m not plotting, but I’m wondering if perhaps I should. And if I did, what would I plot?”
“What would you—?”
“I told you, I don’t know yet.”
“Would you like to go riding?” asked Nathaniel, abandoning the subject.
She started to nod, then her face fell. “Oh, I can’t. I promised Marianne I would…go out walking with her.”
“Put her off,” Nathaniel cajoled.
Violet shook her head, looking quite sorry, at least. “I promised.”
“Another time then.”
“Oh, yes.” She held out an impulsive hand, and Nathaniel took it. “I wish I could go,” she assured him.
He didn’t quite understand the fervor of her tone, but he appreciated it. He dropped a kiss on her fingers. “We will have many other opportunities to ride together.” She clung to his hand. “Is something wrong?” he asked. Her mood had been a bit strange all morning.
“No.” Violet let go and stepped away. She glanced at the mantel clock. “I should fetch my hat. Marianne will be here in a few minutes.”
“You can always come to me if there is,” Nathaniel said. “Anything wrong.”
“Of course,” she said.
He thought her smile as she went out not as sprightly as usual. Something seemed to be depressing her spirits—ah, most likely the looming confrontation with her mother. The Devere family was enough to make anyone turn somber. Satisfied with his conclusions, he headed for the stables.
* * *
The following morning Violet woke full of anxiety. At first she couldn’t imagine why, then she remembered that this was the day she was to corner her mother. On the one hand, it felt ridiculous to worry about such a simple thing. Children and parents had serious conversations every day of the year. But some young part of her seemed to believe that her scheme challenged the very nature of the universe, that all would collapse if she persisted. Which was idiotic. Mama might be reluctant—well, all Violet’s past history suggested she would be. She might be distressed, and of course Violet didn’t want to make her mother angry or unhappy. But it was hardly earth-shattering. A few simple questions, a natural desire to understand some puzzling elements of her childhood. There was no reason to feel as if doom hovered over her head. And she could always apologize afterward. Mama never held a grudge.
As he left their lodgings to call for her grandmother, Nathaniel squeezed Violet’s hand. It should have been reassuring. It was. But it also reminded her, somehow, that she was keeping secrets from him.
Her expedition with Marianne the previous day had gone just like the last one. They’d walked to the church, and Violet had sat in a pew while Marianne murmured in her admirer’s arms. After a time, he left, again without any introduction. Then, all the way home, Marianne had enthused about his good looks and charm. In her eyes, he was astonishingly thoughtful and gentle and kind—in short, the perfect man. This was, of course, impossible for Violet to judge, but she thought it unlikely. Particularly when she asked for some details about the ge
ntleman and found that Marianne knew little about his activities, tastes, habits and…everything really, except that he professed to love her to the edge of distraction. And that was all that mattered to Marianne.
The situation made Violet uneasy, even though it remained innocent in the strictest physical sense. She knew that Marianne’s family would be appalled. She knew that her own would condemn her involvement. If Grandmamma found out…! She suspected…no, she knew that Nathaniel wouldn’t care for it either. That weighed on her the most. She wished she hadn’t gone. But it was so hard to resist the pleas of her old friend.
The mantel clock chimed ten. She couldn’t think of Marianne any longer. Half an hour had passed since Nathaniel’s departure. It was time to go.
Violet fetched her bonnet and shawl and walked the short distance to Lady Dunstaple’s house. As expected, the servant at the door told her that her ladyship was not available. To be perfectly certain, Violet asked for her grandmother. When told she was out, Violet breathed a sigh of relief. She asked for her mother, and had just time to wonder if Grandmamma had perhaps left orders that she couldn’t see her when she was admitted and taken upstairs.
Her mother was alone in a parlor at the back of the house. Entering on the servant’s heels, Violet saw her parent’s face change when her visit was announced, shifting from contentment to anxiety. Mama always looked that way when caught unawares, she realized. She was happiest when left alone. Her mother put aside her embroidery frame and rose, clasping her hands together. “Violet. Is something wrong?”
It was doleful to feel so awkward with one’s own mother. Sad to see her glancing at the door as if waiting for a headmistress to surge in and scold her. “Not at all,” Violet said. “I’ve come to take you out walking.”
“Me? Oh no.” She looked startled, and even more frightened.
Facing her mother’s small, plump figure, really noticing her hunched shoulders and the lines constant anxiety had etched into her round face, Violet nearly burst into tears. Mama looked so unhappy; she always looked unhappy. In the background, in the shadows, mournful. Had Violet somehow trained herself—or been strongly encouraged—not to notice this?