Condemned & Admired

by Bree Wolf

  In that moment, Violette did not care about the curious stares directed at her. She did not mind the whispers behind her back. Let them talk. Let them gossip. Nothing in this world could touch her. Nothing could ever be of importance here. For this was not her world. She was a mere visitor. And soon she would be gone.

  Relief flooded her, easing her mind until she caught sight of Oliver’s striking figure across the room.

  Instantly, her heart plummeted, and the air was squeezed from her lungs.

  “As far as I can see,” a voice spoke from behind her, “no one here knows who you are.”

  Spinning around, Violette found herself face to face with Oliver’s father, his narrow gaze sharp and calculating as he all but stared holes into her head.

  With a hand pressed to her chest, Violette tried her best to remain calm. Surely, the marquess would not attack her out in the open for everyone to see. No, if he did not lose control as he had upon their last encounter, this would be no more than a tense conversation. One she ought to manoeuvre with care.

  After all, a lot was at risk. If her father recognised her…?

  “Pray tell,” the marquess continued, his voice utterly polite as though they were the best of friends, “what is your maiden name?”

  Violette smiled at him sweetly, hoping he could not see the tension that held her. “Why do you wish to know?”

  He shrugged. “I’m simply curious,” the marquess replied as his gaze swept over her, lingering on her eyes before travelling over her face. “You seem familiar, and yet, no one has ever heard of you nor seen you before. It is as though you’ve risen out of the earth for what little one is able to learn of who you are.”

  Violette chuckled, “What an amusing thought.”

  Waiting for a further explanation, the marquess watched her. “Is this all you intend to say?” he asked when she remained quiet.

  “I suggest you speak to your son,” Violette said as evenly as she could, knowing that one

  wrong word would only fuel the man’s suspicions. Not that they needed any fuel. His anger seemed to burn as strongly as on the day they met. The only difference was that it seemed more controlled.

  However, that could be even more dangerous. After all, what if the marquess knew her mother? What if they had been acquainted? What if he had simply admired her from afar? Would he see the resemblance? Would he be able to put the pieces together and conclude who she was? That could be devastating for her own plans.

  “My son is a fool,” the marquess sneered, unable to hide his disdain for his son, and Violette’s heart ached for Oliver. “Never in his life has he done anything useful. He even fails at the simplest tasks.”

  Gritting her teeth, Violette glared at the marquess. “If you truly believe that, then it is rather evident that you do not know your son very well.”

  Oliver’s father laughed, the sound of it turning Violette’s stomach. “Don’t fool yourself, my lady. That boy has no sense, no loyalty.” He glared at her, his nose crinkling up into a hateful sneer. “After all, he chose to ruin his family’s reputation and legacy by marrying you,” he all but spat the word, “instead of a lady of noble birth.” Jerking his head toward the dance floor where a young lady stood up with a chestnut-haired gentleman, he said, “There. That is Lady Elisabeth, only daughter to the Duke of Selmore. She is the one my son was meant to marry. She is everything my family deserves.” He turned his hateful glare on her. “Everything you are not.”

  Doing her best to keep a straight face, Violette inhaled a deep breath as she realised what helping her had done to Oliver’s life. Although she could not bring herself to feel any compassion for his father, the fact remained that their charade would keep Oliver from making a good match. And was not a good match everything that mattered in this world of ballrooms and tea parties?

  Certainly, Oliver had confided in her about his displeasure with the life he had been born into. Still, did he truly wish to break free for good? Or was it merely a temporary desire? Did he simply need an adventure to realise that the life he had was the one he needed? That an adventure could not last forever?

  Only now, when he looked back, his life would be in ruins, would it not? How would he even begin to explain her disappearance once they had accomplished their task and she returned to the sea?

  Swallowing, Violette could not believe that she had not thought of that before. She had only ever thought of what she wanted, of what she needed to do. She had been utterly selfish.

  “I will find a way to undo this marriage,” the marquess hissed at her, his eyes hard and his fists shaking with controlled anger, “if it’s the last thing I do. Be assured of that, my lady.”

  As he walked off, Violette stared after him. A ball of ice settled in her stomach as she once again saw the flash of insanity in the man’s eyes as well as a hint of desperation. After all, a marriage could not be undone, could it?

  Only by death, a small voice whispered, and Violette felt a chill creeping into her bones. Had the man lost his mind? Quite obviously, he lived in a world where his word was obeyed without question, where he dictated the rules, where nothing was done against his wishes. Even Oliver had never gone against him. Not completely. He might have bent the rules here and there, but only by marrying her had he truly broken them.

  Had this sudden loss of control robbed the marquess of his good sense? Of his sanity?

  What would he do?

  Chapter Twenty-Two – A Taste of the Past

  Glancing back at Violet, Oliver froze when he saw her speaking to his father.

  Even from a distance, he could see the hatred in the old man’s eyes. Instantly, a deep desire to protect her rose in Oliver’s heart, and he immediately excused himself.

  Long strides carried him forward, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Violette grow pale, her eyes widening in shock. Cursing under his breath, Oliver increased his efforts without drawing attention, wishing he had never left her alone in the first place.

  Then he saw his father lean in and whisper something to her before he marched off, leaving Violette to stare after him. “What did you say to her?” Oliver demanded in a hushed snarl as they met halfway across the ballroom.

  A murderous glint came to his father’s eyes as he sneered at him. “If you do not rid yourself of this harlot, I shall be forced to take action.” He leaned closer, and his voice dropped to a dangerous low. “Heed my word, or you’ll be sorry.” Then he marched off, cursing under his breath.

  Rushing to Violet’s side, Oliver reached for her hand, his eyes searching her face as she blinked, trying to shake off whatever thought had robbed her of her colour. “Are you all right?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “What did he say to you?”

  Inhaling a deep breath, Violet turned to look at him. Then she sighed. “He renewed his sentiments about our marriage,” she said, her eyes troubled. “I’m sorry. I never thought about what this charade would do to your life. I–”

  “Don’t believe a word he said!” Oliver urged her, concerned by the sudden loss of light to her eyes. “He’s a bitter old man and–”

  “And yet, you allow him to dictate your life,” Violet finished, a question in her eyes, not pressing but gentle. “I understand,” she finally said, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “He’s your father, and…you’ve grown up with him. It’s not easy to free yourself of such an influence.”

  Oliver swallowed, unwilling to have this discussion here out in the open for the ton to watch. Deep down, he knew she was right, yet, he could not help but feel as though his hands were tied. “What else did he say?”

  Violet shrugged, though her features tensed. “He asked about my maiden name,” she whispered, glancing around the ballroom. “I fear he might have known my mother and sees a resemblance he cannot place.” She sighed, her dark blue eyes gliding over his tense features. “Other than that,” she laughed as though trying to ease the tension, “he merely insulted me.” A disbelieving laugh es
caped her throat. “I’ve spent almost my whole life on a ship with sailors who tend to…be very expressive in their use of language, and I’ve never been insulted by anyone in a harsher way than your father. I’m afraid he truly doesn’t like me.” She said it lightly, but Oliver could see an apology in the way she looked at him.

  “I’m sorry he spoke to you thus,” Oliver whispered, his only concern the light in her eyes that was now absent. “Do not believe a word he said.”

  Violet smiled up at him. “I don’t,” she said, fierce determination coming to her lovely eyes. “As I’ve told you, I know who I am, and that doesn’t change because a disgruntled, old man is displeased with the choices I’ve made.”

  Delighted with her reply, Oliver laughed, “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Squeezing his hand, she nodded, her features tensing. “Were you able to find anything out? Is she here?”

  Oliver nodded, and she drew in a sharp breath. “She is. From what I could gather, she and her mother are in the powder room,” he said, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door. “I think we should not linger here too long. After all, we’re being watched rather closely.”

  Violet glanced at the guests nearest to them. “You’re right,” she whispered. “But where–?”

  “May I have this dance?” Oliver asked, holding out his hand to her.

  For a moment, Violet hesitated. Then she placed her hand in his.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered as he led her toward the dance floor. “I have it on very good authority that the next dance is a waltz.”

  “Will you guide me then?” she asked, her eyes soft and trusting as she looked up at him. “Catch me when I fall?”

  Staring at the rare display of vulnerability, Oliver nodded. “Always,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as though he had been screaming at the top of his lungs. Would this woman never cease to amaze him?

  ***

  Safe in Oliver’s arms, Violette enjoyed the taste of her old life. Although she wholeheartedly agreed with her mother’s choice to take her away, Violette could not help but regret that Oliver was still a part of this world. The world that was no longer hers.

  The way he looked at her, the way he held her spoke of such devotion that Violette once more felt reminded of her parents. They, too, had come from different worlds, and yet, they had found a way to be together.

  Swallowing, Violette realised her own thoughts. Never had she contemplated spending her life with another, and she could not recall when that had changed. At what point had her heart started to urge her in that direction? How had she not noticed before?

  Perhaps, though, this sudden desire for the man who held her in his arms was nothing more than her own wish for an adventure. Like him, she had a life she knew in and out, and perhaps for a short moment, she wanted to escape and experience something new. But did that mean she truly loved him? Violette could not say, and that thought scared her. What if she chose wrong?

  “There,” Oliver whispered, his warm breath tickling the side of her cheek. “There she is, coming to stand next to her stepfather.” Then he turned them so that Violette’s gaze could fall over his shoulder at the woman who was now her sister.

  For a moment, Violette’s heart stopped as she stared at the young woman with dark green eyes, her auburn hair pinned up with soft tendrils dancing down to her shoulders. The emerald gown complemented her beautifully, and Violette smiled at the softness of her features and the kindness in her eyes. Still, underneath Juliet’s feminine beauty, Violette could see a fierce will as she took note of the steel in the young woman’s eyes and the tension in her jawline as she smiled. She seemed like a cornered animal but refused to bow her head.

  Pride surged through Violette’s body as her heart ached for the young woman trapped in a life that had not been meant for her, a life she did not want. Like her mother had once been.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Oliver remarked, “She looks far from happy.”

  Violette nodded, entranced by the sight of her. “How could she be? Do you see the way she keeps her attention on her mother and…stepfather? She only looks at Lord Dowling when he addresses her.”

  “Is he asking her to dance?” Oliver whispered in her ear when the last notes of the waltz drifted away. Pulling Violette’s hand through the crook of his arm, he led her off the dance floor, both their gazes remaining with the young woman they had come to save.

  With a feigned smile on her face, Lady Juliet allowed Lord Dowling to lead her onto the dance floor for a cotillion. Although she acted with grace and decorum, it was plain to see–at least for Violette–that she would have declined him if she had been given a choice.

  Gritting her teeth, Violette vowed that she would find a way to give her sister that choice!

  Unable to tear her eyes from the young woman, Violette watched her as she danced, her steps flawless, her movements full of grace. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered, wondering what would become of them after today.

  “How do you intend to address her?” Oliver whispered into her ear, his arm resting on hers as he stood behind her right shoulder, once more shielding her from her father’s gaze.

  “I don’t know,” Violette stammered, her heart beating wildly against her ribs. “I wish I could know how she would react.” Then a terrifying thought struck. “What if she doesn’t even know about me?” Turning around, she looked up at Oliver. “What if she doesn’t believe a word I say? What if I can’t help her? What if she doesn’t let me? What if–?”

  Pulling her away from the crowd, Oliver manoeuvred her further back to the side where fewer eyes remained. “Violet!” he called her name, his voice insistent as he tried to catch her gaze. “Look at me. Violet, look at me.”

  Panic raced through her heart, but Oliver’s voice reached her, and she tried to focus. Taking a deep breath, she looked up into his eyes, calm like the sea on a sunny day.

  “I wish I could kiss you,” he whispered, head lowered to hers, a mischievous twinkle in his gaze “but I do not dare. Not here with all those old tattletales about.” He inhaled a deep breath, and his gaze drifted down to her lips. “Later.”

  Violette drew in a shuddering breath, momentarily distracted by the intense longing in his gaze.

  “She knows about you,” Oliver whispered, his hands still wrapped around hers.

  Violette blinked, for a moment uncertain who he was referring to. Then the pieces fell back into place. “How can you know?”

  He sighed. “Even I knew about you,” he replied, urging her to believe him. “Yours and your mother’s death was widely discussed among the ton. After all, it doesn’t happen every day that a viscountess drowns herself and her daughter in the sea. Although your father tried to keep it quiet, these things always get out.” He held her gaze. “Trust me. She knows.”

  Violette nodded, relieved to hear such certainty in his voice. “Thank you,” she whispered, then turned back to the dance floor where the cotillion was just then coming to an end, the dance partners bowing to each other.

  With her gaze fixed on her sister, Violette watched as Lady Juliet took her leave and walked in the direction of the powder room.

  “Didn’t she just return from the powder room?” Oliver whispered behind her.

  Violette nodded. “Perhaps she wishes to escape someone.” Taking a deep breath, she looked at Oliver. “I’ll wait for her to come out and…and ask her somewhere quiet.”

  Oliver nodded. “All right. I’ll go and distract Lord Dowling and…your father so they won’t see you.”

  “Thank you,” Violette whispered, squeezing his hand before she rushed off.

  Keeping an eye on the door to the powder room, Violette watched women come and go while she glanced down the side corridor, trying to determine where it led. In the end, it did not matter as she could not very well shock her sister witless right here in the ballroom.

  An eternity passed until Lady Juliet finally reappeared.

  As she stepped from her li
ttle haven, there was a moment before her mask was back in place and Violette could see the devastation upon her lovely face. It was exactly what Violette needed to propel her forward. “Lady Juliet,” she addressed her sister in an unsteady voice, “may I speak to you for a moment? This is a matter of urgency.”

  Her sister’s green eyes met hers, and a soft frown drew down her brows as she tried to place the young woman who addressed her in such a familiar way. “Do I know you?” she asked as Violette backed away, gesturing for Juliet to follow her.

  Although Violette did not answer but merely repeated her request, Lady Juliet stepped away from the ballroom and followed her into the side corridor with a last glance over her shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked, the look in her eyes filled with confusion. And yet, Violette thought to see a touch of relief at being granted a reason not to return to Lord Dowling’s side just yet. “Do you need help?”

  Opening the first door she encountered, Violette breathed a sigh of relief when she found the room empty. It was a small sitting room, dim in the soft glow from the moon outside the tall windows, which granted a shadowy view of the gardens. “In here,” Violette whispered, then closed the door once Lady Juliet had stepped inside.

  “What is this?” the young woman asked, suspicion coming to her eyes as she looked at Violette. “Who are you? Why did you bring me here?”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Violette drew in a deep breath, fortifying herself for what was to come. “You do not know me,” she said, trying her best to keep her voice from ringing too shrill, “but you might have heard my name?”

  Lady Juliet frowned, and Violette wondered, if their roles were reversed, how would she react to such shocking news?

  Inhaling yet another deep breath, Violette took a step toward her sister, her blue eyes looking into Lady Juliet’s green ones. “My name is Violet Winters,” she said, giving her name the English pronunciation as Oliver did. “My father is Lord Silcox. I am your stepsister.”