by Dayna Quince
Bernie turned her glare to Violet. “That isn’t funny. If he wants to marry a Marsden, he can start with Annette—speaking of which, Annette is here. I must introduce you.” Bernie grabbed Violet’s hand and pulled her across the drawing room.
Violet didn’t mind. Bernie’s antics kept her mind off Weirick, who was not yet here.
The elusive Miss Marsden, the eldest of the Northumberland Nine, was tall and beautiful. She shared the same dark hair and brown eyes as her sisters, but she was different. She was delicate and quiet, where the other sisters were vivacious. She stood with the duchess, and Roderick was with them. He came to Violet’s side while Bernie made the introductions.
Violet had grown used to Roderick over the past few days. She knew he was firmly against his brother leaving, and no matter how much he flirted and teased, it was never genuine. He was an excellent actor, but she could see when he was being genuine or putting on a show for his audience.
However, as he stood beside her, something about him was off. He was strangely sober in his demeanor, listening quietly as his mother shared a story with another matron about the girls growing up beside her boys here in Northumberland.
Violet looked at him, but his attention was planted firmly on Miss Marsden. He must have sensed Violet’s inspection, for he looked down and smiled at her. He bent close to whisper in her ear.
“She’s as quiet as a starless night, as still as waters deep. What lurks there in, secrets? The bones of ships long sailed, sailors entombed— I lost it.”
Violet blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was composing a poem.”
Violet blinked again. “For me?”
He frowned at her. “No.”
Violet looked away but everyone was still engrossed by the duchess’ story, everyone but Miss Marsden, who was watching Roderick.
“Oh, ohhhh,” Violet whispered. Quiet as a starless night, still as waters deep.
“I didn’t quite catch that,” he said, bending close to Violet once more.
“Never mind, I understand now,” Violet said with a small smile.
Roderick shook his head and turned his attention back to his mother, and presumably, Miss Marsden.
Oh, what a delicious secret. The impenetrable Roderick Andrews, smitten with his neighbor’s daughter. Violet was sure it was a secret, a secret he’d unwittingly revealed to her without knowing? She couldn’t be sure.
There was a ripple of whispers, and the tension in the room elevated. Violet turned to find Weirick striding toward them. Her breath caught, and her knees turned to water. She’d never seen him in evening blacks. He usually wore dark colors, but the contrast of black and white was so austere on him—striking, one could say—combined with his exceeding good looks, both tempered and somehow enhanced by the minor scars to his face and his shaven head. He wasn’t wearing his hat? He always wore his hat during the group gatherings. What did that mean?
Violet found her breath again just before her head grew fuzzy. It occurred to her that if his face were truly flawless, and he still had his gorgeous hair, Weirick would be sickeningly beautiful, like a dessert too rich and sweet that only one bite can be tolerated. She preferred his looks flawed. Before he was an Adonis, as beautiful as a priceless work of art, but now he was simply human, a man with hard edges, deep crevices, and a molten center.
His eyes glided over her, as subtle as mist. A wave of heat swept over her. She had never felt so lovely as she did now, with his heated gaze on her, adoring her in a way only he could.
“Thus hath the candle singed the moth,” Roderick muttered.
Violet wanted to elbow him, but she didn’t. She watched Weirick approach with what she hoped was a pleasant, ambiguous smile and not the soul-searing desire she felt. He bowed to her, bending over her hand and kissing her knuckles. Then he greeted his mother and smiled through a cascade of introductions. Guests swarmed around them, face after face appearing to get a closer look at the Undesirable Duke, who at the moment, looked anything but. Violet stood by and watched in awe as he dealt with the melee in apparent ease, even as the guests circled around him after each introduction to gawk at the scars on the back of his head.
He didn’t seem to care, but Violet knew it must be an awful strain on him. As for her, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was standing beside his mother now, smiling, laughing, and his whole face had changed, the scowl lines replaced by laughter lines, his eye sparkling. It knocked the wind from her lungs.
“Come now, you’re being a bit obvious.” Roderick took her hand and placed it on his arm to turn her away.
Violet resisted but then gave in. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re supposed to be falling in love with me, at least to the unknowing nitwits here.”
“I’ve never seen him like that. He looked…happy.”
“Remarkable, isn’t it? Almost as if the last five years were surgically removed from his life. You’re a miracle worker, Violet.”
Violet accepted a glass of champagne from him, but she frowned at it instead of drinking it. “You think it’s something I did?”
“Of course, a man on a steady diet of you has no choice but to be intoxicated with happiness.”
Violet looked up at him, more than a little stunned. “That is quite the compliment, thank you, Roderick.”
“Don’t thank me, just keep doing whatever you’re doing. Even my mother was getting misty eyed as she watched him. Some of it was fabricated, of course. Weirick was never that patient and jovial, especially with old fools like Lord Topper. But we all wear masks in crowds such as these, don’t we?” He looked down at Violet.
“I suppose that is true.” She looked back at him, and she thought of the way he’d looked at Miss Marsden. His mask had definitely slipped then.
Both Weirick and Roderick were far more complex than their startling handsomeness led one to believe. It was a shame really, blinded by beauty, one couldn’t see them for who they were underneath.
No wonder Weirick despised those who prized physical looks above all, as his father had, as most of society did.
Dinner was announced, and long tables draped in crisp white linen, mirror-shine silver ware and platters winking in the candlelight stretched the length of the great hall. It reminded Violet of the many elaborate dinners she’d attended over the years. It looked too pretty, too glittery for the great hall, a room so ancient and magnificent by itself, the tables looked cheap in comparison.
Taking their seats, an endless procession of servants brought platters piled high with food to the tables. Even with the added guests, Violet and her mother were seated near Weirick. He turned his magic on her mother, and Violet couldn’t help but marvel at him as she pushed food around her plate. Her stomach fluttered every time he looked at her, and bolts of lightning zinged down her spine when he smiled. It was impossible to eat when her body was performing its own fireworks display inside her.
The ceiling above them rumbled, and a flash of actual lightening lit the room harshly. There was nervous laughter from the guests, as the storm that had been steadily growing since their ride this morning reached its zenith. As dessert was served, Violet found the courage to actually speak to Weirick. She dabbed her lips and set her napkin down, tracing the delicate stem of her wine glass so her fidgeting fingers would have something to occupy them.
“I hope the storm doesn’t deter the remainder of the guests,” she said.
“Indeed, Miss Everly, I would not want to be out in such weather. Though, if I knew you were here, and I might have the chance to dance with you, nothing would keep me away.”
Unbridled delight lit her up from the inside, she was sure beams of light would shoot through her eyes. She tempered her smile to something more respectable, and not the all-out grin her muscles fought for.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I’m glad you are not. I’d fear for your safety and that of your horses.”
“Properly trained horses will do all right in a rous
ing storm, it’s the coachmen who suffer the most. But from what I understand, the remaining guests to arrive are few, and the worst of the storm will likely pass before they arrive.”
“That is reassuring to hear, Your Grace.”
He smiled at her, a crooked playful smile that did delicious and warm things to her body. “I hope you have not given your dances away for the evening, Miss Everly, I would be honored to claim your waltz. There is only one, you see.”
Her heart took off like a horse at the starting gate. “I have not yet promised my dances to anyone.”
“Excellent, then I will claim your waltz.”
“It is yours.” Violet hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky to everyone else as it had to her own ears.
Dinner finished, the guests returned to the drawing room while swift hands cleared the tables and removed them from the great hall, their chairs now lining the walls. A string quartet tuned their instruments in the minstrel’s gallery.
Violet paced nervously before the fire in the drawing room, Bernie watching her.
“You remind me of a pendulum, Violet. Please stop, watching you makes me dizzy.” Bernie touched her arm and pressed a glass of champagne into her hands.
“Why must everyone hand me champagne?” Violet asked.
“Because you look nervous. You’re fidgety, and that isn’t like you.”
Violet sighed. “I am nervous. I’m going to dance with him, just like I wanted to these past five years.”
“Come, talk to Annette. She is very calming.”
“But Annette doesn’t know what is going on between me and…you know.” Violet cast a wary glance to the guests within earshot.
“No, but as someone who has also been waiting a long time for romance, she will understand.”
“What do you mean?” Violet asked as they made their way through the ever-growing crowd to Miss Marsden and three other Marsdens.
“Why didn’t your mother come?” Violet wondered aloud.
“She had nothing to wear, and nothing Her Grace said would sway her.”
“And your other sisters? Are they not old enough?”
“Willa is seventeen, and more mature than all of us, except Annette. No one holds a candle to Annette’s calm exterior.”
“Would you say she’s quiet as a starless night?” Violet bit her cheek.
Bernie slowed and turned her head to frown at her. “No… That sounds like romantic drivel. Have you been reading poetry, Violet?”
Violet smiled. “No, I heard Roderick say it.”
“To you?” Bernie raised a brow.
“No, not to me. Why is that so amusing?”
“The notion that Roderick would wax poetic is quite amusing and fairly unbelievable.”
“I’d agree if I had not witnessed it personally.”
Bernie looked away as they squeezed through a narrow gap between Lady Remington’s backside and Lord Topper’s bulbous stomach. Violet barely caught her words.
“And which paragon present inspired such prose?”
Before Violet could answer, they were standing before Annette, Georgie, Jeanie, and Josie.
“Well?” Bernie prompted Violet.
“He wouldn’t tell me,” Violet lied. Annette’s cool mahogany gaze appraised her.
“It was so nice to meet you,” Violet said to Annette. “Bernie talks about you so frequently, I feel as though I already know you. Please call me Violet.”
“And please call me Anne. What were you two discussing?”
“Poetry,” Violet said. She prayed Bernie wouldn’t say more.
“Specifically, Roderick spouting poetry to Violet.”
Violet blushed. She would swear the air around Anne dropped several degrees. “Not to me or about me,” Violet rushed to say. “It was about someone else, I just happened to be within hearing.”
“I don’t believe it. Poetry requires depth, and Roderick has no depth,” Georgie said.
Struck by the rancor in Georgie’s words, Violet had to come to his defense. She considered him a friend now. “I wouldn’t say that. He wears a mask, like most of us, but underneath he is different.”
Five pairs of eyes looked back at her in disbelief.
“I swear it,” Violet said.
“We’ll have to take your word for it, you must know him better than us, after all.” Annette said in such a cool tone that Violet wanted to return to the fireplace.
Violet turned to Bernie for help. “I’ve come to know him quite well, wouldn’t you agree, Bernie? He’s helping me with a peculiar situation. We’ve grown to be friends.”
Bernie came to Violet’s side. “That is true. Lately he’s been rather selfless.”
Anne scoffed. “Unbelievable.”
“It’s true!” Bernie frowned at her sister. “If you had bothered to attend the house party you were invited to, you would know exactly of what I speak.”
Anne rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Bernie. I must speak to Mrs. Dalrymple, excuse me.”
Violet nodded politely as Anne passed but kept her thoughts and the expression of her thoughts about Annette Marsden to herself.
“I realize Roderick can be annoying, but her level of contempt is beyond reasonable,” Josie said.
“Perhaps he’s matured?” Jeanie offered.
Bernie shrugged. “I wish I knew, but she stopped sharing her secrets with me long ago.”
Violet looked away, uncomfortable being present during a sisterly squabble. It made her miss her own sisters and wonder what they were doing. Prim was enjoying her season, staying with her friend, and Heather was at home at Ablehill Castle with her two children. A pang of homesickness struck Violet.
Roderick appeared at her side and issued her a dance card. “I’ve put myself down for the first and the waltz.”
“Oh no,” Violet said.
“No?” Roderick laughed.
“Weirick claimed my waltz.”
Something settled over Roderick’s features. “Did he? Excellent. Pencil me in for your first dance. I have to go.” And he darted away.
“What the devil?” Bernie muttered.
“He is acting strange,” Violet responded. She wrote his name down anyhow because the dancing would soon begin, and then she wrote in Weirick’s, her stomach doing a giddy flip.
She remained in a constant state of excitement as the dancing commenced, and her dance card filled with names. She cared not who she danced with, barely acknowledging most of her partners as she watched the large clock hung in the hall steadily move its hands. The waltz was scheduled right before midnight supper. Seeing the clock tick toward the twelve, Violet’s nerves stretched until she thought they might snap. She thanked Mr. Cage for his lovely dance and allowed him to fetch her lemonade. She scanned the great hall for Weirick, noting that he hadn’t danced with anyone until now.
She wasn’t afraid to confess she’d watched him most of the night. As the hour drew to a close and the clock chimed the twelfth hour, her heart took flight. He was coming toward her. She nodded her thanks to Mr. Cage as he handed her a cup of lemonade, but only had one sip before handing it off to a passing footman. Weirick bowed over her hand, and Violet promptly forgot everything in the room, forgot how to breath, how to move her limbs, and how to speak. He led her to the floor, her body moving under his command.
The music began and he set his hand on her back and cradled her other in his own. Violet placed her hand on his shoulder, looking up at him as if he were the moon and she a lonely star.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
“I can’t.” She sucked in a greedy breath and laughed.
“There you go.” He smiled as they began to move.
So now he could breath, and her feet deftly followed his, the hand at her back steering her in graceful circles. The heat of his hand swiftly penetrated her gown, warming her skin, seeping into her and spreading until her bones turned to butter.
She had to look away from him, or she might embarrass both of the
m. She forced her eyes to look over her shoulder and gasped. Roderick was dancing with Anne.
“What has you so agog?” Weirick asked.
“Roderick is dancing with Anne.”
“He seeks to torture her.”
“She doesn’t look tortured.” In Violet’s opinion, Anne looked as swept away as Violet felt.
“Tell me, how is my dancing. I haven’t danced for years until this party.”
Violet smiled at him, at last finding her composure. “Your dancing is superb and you know it.”
He grinned at her, and just like that, she was floating. His hand at her back pulled her closer.
“Did you wait for this?”
“For five years.”
“And is it all you wanted it to be?”
“Yes.” No. Now that her head was communicating with the rest of her, if she had to be honest, there was something missing. His eyes roamed over her face and he grew serious. “About tonight…”
Her gut tightened. “Yes?”
“We don’t have to go through with it. If you don’t want to, I mean.”
She took a painful breath. “I want to.”
“It’s a mistake.” His eyes searched hers. He almost looked…sad. Or maybe afraid. The thought of him afraid made her want to be brave.
“Not to me, it’s not. I want to be with you, no matter the price I have to pay.”
“Violet.” His voice deepened. He turned them in dizzying swirls until they reached the long side of the great hall again. “You don’t know what that means.”
“I do, Weirick. Don’t make me wait any longer. I’ve thought of this moment for five long, lonely years.”
He swallowed, his mouth clamping shut.
“Weirick?” Violet chewed her lips as the waltz finished and then he spun to a stop.
“You know where to find me tonight.”
Violet nodded once and then he bowed over her hand, his back rigid, and left her there beside the dance floor. It was not the grand romantic dance she had hoped for, but it was better than nothing, and it wasn’t over yet, she reminded herself. This night was far from over.
Chapter 20