by Bree Wolf
Chapter Twenty-Three – Birth Right
Unable to look anywhere else but at Lady Juliet’s face, unable to even blink, Violette saw recognition come to her sister’s eyes. At first, it was only a mild echo of a memory as her gaze turned inward, searching for something to make sense of what she had heard. Then her gaze widened, and it returned to stare at Violette, her green eyes drifting over her features. “It cannot be,” she whispered, her voice almost inaudible as she raised a hand to her throat as though she feared the air would flow from her lungs. “It cannot be.”
“It can,” Violette assured her, holding her sister’s gaze, “and it is.”
At the sound of Violette’s voice, Lady Juliet’s features hardened, her lips thinning as she regarded her with abhorrence. “How dare you?” she hissed. Her voice, however, was weak as though she could not quite convince herself. “It is an outrage that you would make up such a claim.”
“But it is true,” Violette insisted as she racked her mind for a way to prove her identity. “I swear to you I am…” Her voice trailed off as her mother’s words found their way to the surface of her mind. Turning to Lady Juliet, she held the young woman’s wide gaze. “Does my mother’s portrait still hang in the gallery at Silcox Manor?”
At her question, Juliet’s eyes went wide, and she clasped a hand over her mouth in shock.
“It is true,” Violette said gently. “I am your stepsister, and I have come–”
“But you’re dead!” Lady Juliet exclaimed, her eyes wild as she shook her head in disbelief. “You and your moth–!” A new panic came to Lady Juliet’s face, and she blinked her eyes as though hoping Violette was simply a mirage.
Carefully, Violette took a step closer and reached for her sister’s hand. When her fingers touched Lady Juliet’s, the young woman almost jumped out of her skin. Still, Violette did not back away. Instead, she drew her sister’s limp hand into hers, meeting her wide eyes once more. “My mother left that note,” she began to explain, “stating her intention of drowning us both to keep my father from coming after us. She wanted to be free of him. She wanted me to be free. And so, she took a chance.”
Closing her eyes, Lady Juliet drew in a shaky breath, her panic replaced by utter resignation. “Where is your mother?” she asked, all strength having left her voice as she awaited Violette’s answer with unseeing eyes.
Violette sighed, “My mother is in France.”
As though her limbs had turned to pudding, Lady Juliet all but sank to the floor.
Surging forward, Violette caught her in her arms, her sister’s head rolling onto her shoulder. “Juliet!” she called in panic, brushing the young woman’s tendrils from her face.
Relieved, Violette noted the rise and fall of her chest and then the fluttering of her eyelids. It had only been a faint, but it had scared her nearly witless.
Gently, Violette pulled her sister to her feet and then helped her the few steps to the settee. “Sit,” she ordered, contemplating if she ought to rush out for some water.
“We’re all ruined,” Juliet mumbled, burying her face in her hands as sobs tore from her throat. “We’re all ruined.”
Confused, Violette stared at her. “Please, don’t worry yourself. Everything will be–”
Juliet’s head snapped up, utter devastation in her tear-filled eyes. “My mother’s marriage is not valid,” she breathed, frantically brushing the tears from her cheeks. “That means that my brother is…Oh, my God, this cannot be true.” Once again, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Finally realising what had caused her sister’s panic, Violette closed her eyes, cursing herself for not having realised the source of her sister’s panic sooner. All her thoughts had been directed at helping her sister avoid the fate that should not have been hers. Violette had wanted to help. Nothing else. Never would she have considered reclaiming her birth right. After all, it held no value for her.
Neither would her mother.
Had she not done everything humanly possible to ensure that their ties to English society were cut? For good?
Indeed, she had. Still, all Juliet saw when she looked at Violette was a threat. Someone who threatened the life they had made for themselves.
It was disheartening, and for a moment, Violette felt all strength drain from her body. The past few weeks had been exhausting, emotionally as well as physically, and all Violette wanted in that moment was to lie down and close her eyes.
But she did not. There was too much at stake.
“Juliet,” Violette whispered, brushing a gentle hand over her sister’s shoulder. “Listen to me.” When Juliet did not look up, all but shrinking away from her sister’s touch, Violette sighed. “Whether you believe me or not,” she finally began, “I did not come to take anything from you. It is not my intention to reveal my identity to anyone. Neither do I have any intention of staying in England. I will leave as soon as possible.” She inhaled a deep breath, feeling a smile flit across her features, when Juliet glanced up at her, listening after all. “I only came to help you, Juliet. I–”
In that moment, the door was pushed open. “Juliet, are you in here?” came a soft voice, laced with a hint of panic. Then Lady Silcox, Juliet’s mother, stepped into the room, her gaze finding her daughter instantly. When she took note of Violette sitting by her daughter’s side, the hint of panic left her face, replaced by a sense of confusion. “What is going on?” she asked, rushing inside. “Are you unwell?”
Shooting to her feet, Juliet looked from her mother to Violette and back again, her eyes wide and her fingers curled into the fabric of her gown. “It’s only a headache, Mother,” she croaked, frantically wiping at the tears on her face. “I shall be fine.” Rushing toward her mother, Juliet did her best to position herself between the other two women, urging her mother back out the door. “I wish to return home. I need to lie down.”
“Certainly,” her mother whispered, glancing over her daughter’s shoulder at Violette.
All the while, Violette sat on the settee, her voice caught in her throat as she watched mother and daughter leave the room. For a moment, her heart ached for her own mother, her reassuring touch and gentle voice that would see all her concerns banished with a few simple words. Thus, was the magic mothers held in their daughters’ eyes, and Violette felt an almost desperate need to be embraced by the woman who had seen her safe her entire life.
As it would seem, Juliet had such a mother as well. If only she had been able to spare her daughter this fate.
***
After ensuring that neither Lord Silcox nor Lord Dowling took note of Violette as she approached her sister and urged her to follow her to an empty room, Oliver quickly took his leave. Then he strode across the ballroom and positioned himself near the powder room and the small corridor through which the two sisters had left.
And there he stood, all but fidgeting with the drink in his hand, unable to keep still, his eyes fixed on the door. As the minutes passed, Oliver became more and more certain that he would go mad before he had any chance of finding out what was happening.
Never had he thought of himself as an impatient man. However, tonight was torture, and he wished he could simply barge into the room and–
Inhaling a sharp breath, Oliver noticed Lady Silcox head into the powder room, re-emerging but a moment later, a confused frown on her face as she looked about for her daughter. After glancing around the ballroom, she stepped back toward the powder room. When her eyes fell on the small corridor, she hesitated but a moment, then strode forward and vanished from sight.
Oliver could only assume that Lady Juliet had sought sanctuary from Lord Dowling before as her mother did not seem surprised at her daughter’s disappearance. In truth, the look on her face spoke of a strange familiarity with the events happening that very moment.
Still, Oliver wished with all his heart that he could follow her.
Instead, he was doomed to remain where he was, not knowing if Violette needed his help.
Needed him. But what if he were to follow? Could his presence make matters worse? What if she did in fact need him? Someone by her side? Someone who–?
Oliver’s hand tightened on his drink when he saw mother and daughter reappear. While Lady Juliet had clearly been crying, dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes, Lady Silcox kept glancing over her shoulder, confusion clear on her face as she spoke to her daughter. Lady Juliet gave a short reply, the look in her eyes reminding Oliver of a cornered animal, as she all but pulled her mother toward the entrance hall.
A moment later, Violet appeared in the doorway, her eyes clouded as she looked after the two women hastening away. Once again, Lady Silcox glanced over her shoulder, and for a split second, Oliver thought to see a hint of recognition light up the lady’s eyes.
Violet had to have seen it as well for she placed a finger on her lips, her eyes urging the lady not to breathe a word of what she had just realised.
A moment later, mother and daughter disappeared, and as though their sight had given Violet strength, she now seemed to sink into herself, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the door frame.
Without a second thought, Oliver set down his glass and hurried to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked as his arms came around her, pulling her against him. He tipped up her chin, his gaze searching hers, alarmed when he saw a mist of tears filling her beautiful eyes.
Violet swallowed, her gaze holding his, openly revealing the pain she felt. Never had he seen her more vulnerable, and the sight stirred an unfamiliar desire to protect her. To see her safe and to keep her away from the harshness of the world.
Of course, Oliver knew that she would never allow him to do so, but in that moment, Violet did not fight him when he drew her away from the crowded ballroom and ordered their carriage to be brought.
Once in the carriage, he turned to look at her, reaching for her hands. Sitting across from her, he studied her face, wondering if he ought to leave her alone. Still, she had never been one to shy away from the harshness of the world, and he was certain she would not start now. So, instead, he asked, “What happened?”
Violet swallowed, heaving a long sigh as her dark gaze found his. “I frightened her,” she whispered, guilt in her voice as she spoke. “She thought I had come to stake a claim and have her mother’s marriage declared void.” Again, she inhaled a slow breath, her fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. “I cannot believe it never occurred to me that she might see my arrival as a threat. At least not tonight.” She scoffed. “What a fool I am!”
“You’re no fool!” Oliver said with conviction. Violet’s head snapped up, her blue eyes staring into his. He inhaled a deep breath. “You’re one of the most loyal, compassionate people I’ve ever met, and you will not speak of yourself thus, do you hear me?”
A soft smile curled up the corners of her mouth. Still, there was a bitterness in her eyes that almost stopped his heart. “How would you know who I am? What kind of person I am? You’ve known me for but a fortnight. I could have deceived you. How do you know that I did not use you to find my way into society to claim my birth right? How do you know–?”
“Because I know,” Oliver interrupted her, his voice unyielding as he pushed to his feet and came to sit beside her. His hands closed more tightly around hers, and he noted a hint of surprise in her eyes when he would not let her scoot back, but instead held her close, his knee touching hers. “I know the woman you are.”
Her lips thinned as she regarded him, doubt clearly visible in her eyes.
“It must have been a shock to your sister,” Oliver said when it seemed that she would listen, “to learn your name and realise the implications of your return. It is understandable that she would draw these conclusions for she does not know your character. We cannot fault her for that. However, she will come to see that there is no need to fear you. I am certain of it.”
“How can you say that?” Violet demanded, her voice hard as she tried to pull her hands from his grasp. “You know her even less than you know me.”
Not allowing her to retreat, Oliver held on to her, noting the hint of annoyance that came to her eyes when she could not free herself. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, pulling her closer until his breath brushed over her cheek. “Perhaps you’re not.”
“Release me!” she demanded, once more trying to jerk her hands away. “If she does not want my help, then I suppose she does not have need of it.”
“You cannot truly believe that?” Oliver exclaimed, taken aback that she would give up so easily.
A triumphant gleam came to her eyes. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Annoyed with the way she sought to trick him, Oliver grabbed her chin. “Don’t play me for a fool,” he hissed, noting the widening of her eyes as he leaned in close. “Her rejection hurt you, and now you’re turning on her because you’re afraid to feel it.” He inhaled a deep breath, knowing only too well the sting of familial rejection. “Your intentions were pure, and she thought the worst of you. She refused to listen because she did not trust you. She did not see you as family, but as a threat.” He swallowed, studying her face. “From the moment you learnt of her existence, you thought of her as your sister, as family, and deep down, you expected her to welcome you with open arms. But she didn’t. And although you don’t even know her,” Oliver whispered, “it hurts, doesn’t it?”
Closing her eyes, Violet inhaled a shuddering breath, her jaw trembling in his grasp. Then she looked at him once more, and a tear welled up, rolling down her cheek and onto his thumb.
Holding her gaze, Oliver gently brushed the tear from her face. Then he sat back and released her chin. His other hand, though, remained wrapped around hers. “You need to give her time to get over the initial shock,” he said, his voice no longer harsh and urgent as his own pulse had slowed as well. “But then you need to speak to her again. For both of your sakes. You’ll never forgive yourself if you leave her to her fate without having done everything within your power to protect her.” He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. “Promise me you will not give up.”
After inhaling a long, shuddering breath, Violet finally nodded, her eyes once gentler after having lost their hard edge. “I promise,” she breathed, her voice weak, and he could see the pain of that night clearly etched into her face. “Is this how you’ve felt all your life?” she whispered after a while. “Is this what your father’s rejection does to you? How it feels?”
Oliver swallowed, then turned away, his hand slipping from hers.
Only this time, she was the one to hold on, pulling him back, making him look at her. Leaning forward, she placed a hand on his cheek, her eyes travelling over his face.
Cringing away from the life he wished he could forget, Oliver looked deep into her eyes, feeling the softness of her skin against his. He could feel her breath on his lips, and his blood began to stir with a deep longing. His gaze dropped from hers, tracing the curve of her lip, and without conscious thought he leaned in, toward the haven she presented. An escape from the darkness around him. She was his light.
His saviour.
His heart.
And in that moment, Oliver could think of nothing else but his mouth on hers.
Unfortunately, Violet had other plans, and his lips barely brushed against hers as she leaned back, her hand on his chest pushing him back. “Tell me,” she whispered as her other hand tightened on his, refusing to let him pull away once more.
Swallowing, Oliver cleared his throat, momentarily unable to meet her gaze. Never had he felt so vulnerable. “It is not easy to be found…wanting,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “When those who ought to see you at your best, only think the worst of you.” He shook his head, his gaze touching hers for a split second. “For if they cannot see you in a good light, then how can you yourself see any good in you?” Slowly, he lifted his eyes off their linked hands and looked up at her. “I know I ought not to grant him such power, but in the end, I ca
nnot change that it is his opinion that makes and breaks me. It has always been thus.” He closed his eyes. “After all, there’s no one else.”
Chapter Twenty-Four – Not a Gentleman
Violette’s heart ached when she saw the desolate look on Oliver’s face, his voice all but begging for someone to tell him that he was not alone. That he had not only his father in his life…but her as well.
Still, as much as she yearned to give him peace, Violette could not utter the words. After all, she would not stay. Before long, she’d be back on the Chevalier Noir, out at sea where she belonged.
This…was merely borrowed time. She had no right to steal his heart and leave him more desolate than when she had met him.
Awkward silence stretched between them when she pulled away, each retreating into their corner, their gazes fixed outside at the dark city. When the carriage finally pulled up in front of Oliver’s townhouse, he stepped outside, then held out his hand to assist her, his eyes never meeting hers.
Together, they climbed the front stoop, two strangers walking side by side. Dunston greeted them with a formal nod and bid them a good night. In silence, they ascended the large staircase to the upper floor, then turned down the corridor to their bedchambers.
All the while, Violette racked her mind for something to say as the silence pressed on her heart, and it ached with an acuteness she had never known before. She would give anything to see him smile at her again. To make his eyes light up with mischief. To feel his hand on hers.
“Good night, my lady,” Oliver mumbled when they reached her chamber, his gaze flickering to hers as he inclined his head to her. “I hope you sleep well.” Then he turned to go.
“Your father,” Violette blurted out, and he froze not two steps away from her. Cursing herself, Violette realised too late that this subject could not have been more poorly chosen as it only served to remind him of the awkwardness between them.