Wilful Wallflowers Collection: Books 1 - 3

by Claudia Stone

  "I could not give tuppence about your time in India, Aunt," Waldo interjected, "In fact, I never want to hear you mention India again."

  "Suit yourself," Aunt Phoebe huffed, and the sound of the elderly Fifi's growling accompanied Waldo out the door.

  The beginning of Waldo's career in politics coincided with the outbreak of revolution in France. As Waldo rose through the ranks of Whitehall, his diplomacy and tact--which mostly involved a lot of boot-licking--became noted.

  "We need a man in Vienna, Havisham," Lord Ascot bellowed one morning to a beleaguered Waldo, "How's your French?"

  "Exemplary, my lord," Waldo replied, most earnestly.

  "Then pack your trunk, you'll sail in the morning."

  Vienna was filled with aristocratic émigrés from Paris, all eager to find a way to overthrow the hordes of peasants who had so violently upset the status quo in the Kingdom of France. Waldo, equally as eager to play his part on behalf of Britannia and her King, threw himself into his work, only to fall at the first hurdle.

  His French, which he had previously thought exemplary, was not up to scratch. In fact, it was nonexistent.

  To remedy the matter, Waldo tried several approaches. He tried speaking very, very slowly, to better help the French understand his English. When that didn't work, Waldo tried speaking slowly and loudly, his voice often rising so high, that on numerous occasions he was accused of shouting.

  Despite all his efforts at translation, the perfidious French still refused to understand him, not even when he added wild gesticulations to his words.

  Waldo began to fear that his career as a diplomatic envoy would come to an abrupt end before it had even begun, until the night that he met Georgette.

  The daughter of an impoverished comte, Georgette was elegant, beautiful, and--more importantly--bilingual. A hasty marriage was arranged, and within a week of making their nuptials, Georgette was assisting Waldo with making inroads with the locals. Waldo proudly arranged British military assistance for The Battle of Valmy--where the Austrians tried to overthrow the French regime and have Louis XVI restored to his throne.

  Of course, it failed miserably, and the following year the king and his wife, Marie Antoinette, were beheaded. However, Waldo had no further care for that ghastly business, for he had already returned to England's shores with his beautiful bride.

  And better yet, he had returned as a success.

  True, many soldiers had perished in the battle, but what were a few lost men when Whitehall was so grateful to Waldo for having had Britannia play her part? So pleased were they that they awarded him a tidy sum for his great efforts. With his new fortune, Waldo purchased a seat in Parliament from one of the rotten boroughs, and the lease on a grand house on Grosvenor Square, where he and Georgette set up home.

  After many years of longing, he had finally achieved both money and power.

  Just before summer, Aunt Phoebe sent word that she would be taking a tour of Ireland for a few months and that Waldo was welcome to bring his new bride to Hebrides Hall. As her letter coincided with Georgette's announcement that she was increasing, Waldo decided to take his wife back to Scotland, so that his son--for it would be a boy--might be born on the estate he would one day inherit.

  Now, here Waldo was, in Hebrides Hall, with the son he hoped would achieve even greater things than he, a daughter he had not expected, and a vague hope that Aunt Phoebe might be kidnapped by Fenians and never return.

  Sadly, Aunt Phoebe was not spirited away by rebel-rousing Irishmen, but even her return to Hebrides Hall could not distract Waldo from his newfound happiness; Sebastian.

  His son was a bonny babe, with eyes so navy-blue that they could almost be mistaken for violet. His sister was similarly blessed, which was lucky, for it saved Waldo and Georgette the trouble of having to think of a name for the girl.

  As babies, swaddled in blankets, it was almost impossible to tell Sebastian and Violet apart; both dressed in muslin gowns and caps upon their curly heads they were completely identical. After much confusion, Dorothy, in all her infinite wisdom, suggested dressing one in gowns trimmed with blue edging--a colour which was believed to ward off evil spirits--in order to tell them apart.

  Waldo agreed, and while he did not believe in silly superstitions, he still made it clear that it was Sebastian who should wear the blue-trimmed gowns--just in case.

  It was not that Waldo did not love his daughter; he did--it was just that he loved his son more. Sebastian was a being whom Waldo could mould to his own desire and who would proudly carry on the family name. While Violet...well, she might one day make a good marriage.

  Waldo's preference was not noted by the twins in their early years, as they enjoyed an idyllic childhood roaming the wilds of the island. Neither seemed to notice that there was one gaping difference between them, nor, for a time, did they realise that they were actually two separate beings, so attached were they.

  It was only when the time came to educate the pair that it dawned on Sebastian and Violet that their futures might take very different paths.

  "Why can't I learn Latin?" Violet queried, on the morning of Sebastian's first lesson in the Classics.

  "Latin is for boys, chérie," Georgette replied brusquely.

  "But I want to learn Latin," Violet replied, with a petulant lip.

  "Nobody wants to learn Latin," her mother clarified, with a faint shiver, "But Sebastian has to so that he will be at an advantage when he goes to Eton."

  Eton?

  Violet exchanged a startled glance with her brother across the breakfast table. No one had ever mentioned that they might one day be separated.

  "I don't want to go to Eton," Sebastian spluttered, dropping his silver spoon with a clatter.

  "Well, you have to," Georgette's patience was beginning to wear thin; she was not the maternal type and found time spent with her offspring exceedingly trying. "You will go to Eton, then to Oxford like your Papa, and then you will take up a position in government before you get married and inherit the title."

  Again, Sebastian and Violet glanced at each other in surprise. How was it that Sebastian's life had been planned out so thoroughly without their knowledge or agreement? Did their parents not know that the twins had made plans of their own?

  "I am not going to Eton, or Oxford, Mama," Sebastian replied, sticking out his chest importantly, "I will stay in Hebrides Hall and marry Violet."

  To the twin's surprise, no admonishments sprung forth from their mother's lips. Instead, an amused giggle sounded out across the dining room.

  "Ah," Georgette replied, bestowing a rare glance of affection upon her children, "I am afraid that you two getting married is not allowed. Besides, when the time comes, I can guarantee that neither of you will want to marry the other."

  Not allowed? Violet gulped; if she was not allowed to marry Sebastian, then how on earth would she remain at Hebrides Hall? The wind-battered island, with its wild hills and turbulent seas, was the only place she wished to live.

  "Then I will marry Papa," Violet shrugged, avoiding Sebastian's wounded gaze.

  "I definitely think you won't want that, when the time comes," Waldo snorted, glancing up from his newspaper. "Now, run along, you two. Your mama and I want to finish our breakfast in peace."

  Sebastian and Violet fled the table, muttering despairingly to each other about the injustice of life. But, as most children of five are wont to do, they forgot their troubles within a day, and there was no more talk of Eton from their parents, until the following year.

  Anyone passing by Hebrides Hall, the night before Sebastian was set to depart, would have been forgiven for thinking that a dreadful murder was taking place, such were the howls.

  "I won't go," Sebastian roared, tears streaking his porcelain face.

  "I won't let him go," Violet added, her face flushed with agony.

  "Neither of you has any say in this," Waldo answered, his shout the loudest of the three, "And if you don't stop your tantrum, I won't
allow Sebastian to return at the end of Michaelmas."

  The twins abruptly halted their protest, their despondent sniffs the only sound now filling the room.

  "Good," Waldo gave the pair a stern glance, "Now, off to bed with you."

  The children scurried to their bedroom, where the nursery maid attempted to soothe their battered souls as she dressed them for bed.

  "You'll be reunited by the end of the year," Agnes chirped, as she tucked them under the coverlets.

  "But that's forever away..."

  "Tosh, it's just two months. Now, sleep."

  The door clicked shut behind the nurse but within minutes it was opened again, and Dorothy, bearing glasses of warm milk spiced with nutmeg and ginger, appeared.

  "What's this I hear about my two favourite children causing a ruckus?" she asked, placing the candle in her hand down upon the dresser, before handing the twins their drinks.

  "They want to separate us," Violet whispered, before taking a sip of her milk.

  "Separate you two?" Dorothy chuckled, "They might separate you by land and sea, but mark my words, you two will be joined forever."

  "Really?"

  "I'm quite certain."

  "What do you see, Dorothy?" Sebastian, a great believer in Dorothy's supposed gift of the "sight", asked.

  The old woman frowned as she gathered her shawl tighter around her dumpy form. Her eyes--Skye-blue, as the Scots called it--glanced from one twin to the other.

  "I see two bairns, a boy and a girl, different in some ways, but so alike that they could be each other's mirror image," she said, before adding with a wink, "And I see mischief. Now to sleep with ye."

  The door closed behind Dorothy, but as she had left her candle, light remained. Violet glanced at her brother, who was chewing his lip thoughtfully.

  "That's it," he said, clicking his fingers as an idea manifested itself within.

  "What's it?" Violet stifled a yawn; spiced milk never failed to send her to sleep--how clever Dorothy was.

  "You shall go to Eton in my stead!"

  The milk had lulled Violet into such a sleepy stupor, that she was too confused to offer her brother a reply.

  "You shall dress as me," Sebastian continued, taking her silence for assent, "Then, once they see at Eton how brilliant you are, they'll allow you to stay and I can join you. We'll be together forever, then."

  Sebastian had always been the leader of their duo; where Violet was quiet and shy, Sebastian was outgoing and loud. Where Violet was nervous and hesitant, Sebastian was determined and impulsive.

  Her brother was such a force de jour, that even when Violet's common sense protested, she found herself being swayed by his enthusiasm, which is precisely what happened on this occasion.

  "If you think it will work..?" she offered, hesitantly.

  "Oh, I'm certain it will," Sebastian's eyes danced merrily, before their spark dulled somewhat, as they rested on Violet's head.

  "There's just one thing..."

  "Oh?"

  "Your hair."

  It was a testament to Violet's love for her brother that she did not weep that night, as he cut her hair with scissors stolen from the kitchens below. Even the next day, as she bid goodbye to her parents--dressed in Sebastian's clothes--she did not allow herself to cry.

  "I don't know where your sister is," Georgette said with a huff, as she stroked--or believed she stroked--her son's cheek.

  "She said that she could not bear to say goodbye," Violet replied, keeping her eyes lowered and her voice deep as she lied.

  "Ah, my sweet prince, at least Mama is here," Georgette sighed, "Promise me you will write."

  "Every day," Violet mumbled, as she fled her mother's hug for the waiting carriage.

  "Au revoir, Sebastian!"

  It had worked! Violet could not contain her glee, and as the carriage trundled along the road from Hebrides Hall toward Stornoway Harbour, where a boat would take her to Ullapool on the mainland, she let out a shout of glee. Everything was going to plan...

  Unfortunately, her triumph was short-lived, for the moment before Violet was due to board the boat, a hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her from the crowd on the dock.

  "Not a word," Waldo cautioned, his face pale with anger.

  Behind him, Violet spotted Sebastian, dressed almost identically to her in breeches and a tunic, worn under a green cloak. Her brother's face was stained with tears, and his hands were rubbing his bottom, as though it pained him.

  "You," Waldo nodded at Violet, "Stay here. And you, Sebastian, get in line. And don't even think of attempting a grand escape. Your sister and I will stand here until your boat is safely out of the harbour and into the Minch."

  Sebastian exchanged a tearful glance with Violet, before nodding silently and following his father's orders. Tears obscured Violet's view, as she stood beside her father and watched as the boat left the dock and the calm waters of the marina, to brave the frothy waves of the Minch.

  "How did you know?" Violet queried, as her father led her back to the waiting carriage.

  "There are certain things that girls do not do standing up," Waldo answered mysteriously, "And they most certainly do not do it in the flowerbeds."

  This cryptic remark was not to be explained to poor Violet, who was returned to Hebrides Hall in disgrace. Both her actions and her hair brought great sorrow to Georgette, who declared herself done with her feral daughter.

  "Send for a governess," Georgette wailed, "I need someone to take the child in hand. I cannot control her; she is too wild!"

  That it was Sebastian, who was the wilder of her two children was not up for discussion. Violet's protests of innocence fell on deaf ears, and within a few weeks, she found herself imprisoned in the new schoolroom with Miss Thomas, a governess from the mainland.

  Roaming the moors, clambering over rocks, or any kind of physical exertion was forbidden. Instead, Violet was permitted only to attend her lessons, practice her stitching in the parlour, or pick flowers in the garden. This would have been tolerable enough, was it not for the yawning chasm in Violet's heart.

  She missed her brother.

  When Miss Thomas supplied her with charcoal and watercolours for sketching, Violet found that her hand, almost of its own volition, began to draw her brother's face. Miss Thomas, who usually instructed Violet to draw kittens or daisies, was at first frustrated, until one particular day, she gave a frown.

  "This is very good," she observed, as she glanced down at Violet's portrait of Sebastian, "Very good indeed."

  As their ventures into embroidery, dancing, and flower arranging had met with little fruit, Miss Thomas decided to pursue Violet's burgeoning artistic talent. By the time that Sebastian arrived home, at the end of Michaelmas, Violet's sketching skills had come on in leaps and bounds.

  Of course, no one took any note, given that Sebastian had returned with a glowing report from his Eton schoolmasters.

  "My son is a genius," Waldo said proudly, from the head of the breakfast table, as he read the missive from the headmaster, "As I had suspected. Whoops--what's that I've spilt my tea on?"

  "A portrait I drew for you, Papa," Violet whispered.

  "Ah. Terribly sorry, dear. I'm sure you can draw me another one."

  Violet felt hot tears prick her eyelids, and she might have burst out crying, had Sebastian not taken her hand.

  "I cannot wait to see all your pictures, Vi," he whispered as he squeezed her hand in his.

  And so, it was to be that the only member of Violet's immediate family who would ever think her a genius was Sebastian. Luckily, once Aunt Phoebe returned from a jaunt to the Isle of Man--with a taxidermy Fifi, whose long life had finally come to an end--Violet found another champion.

  "The girl has talent, Dorothy," Lady Havisham said, as she held up one of Violet's paintings for the lady's maid to inspect.

  "Did I not foresee greatness, when the bairn was born?" Dorothy appeared disgruntled that her own part in Violet's talent was going
unrecognised.

  "If I recall correctly, you foresaw a club-foot," Phoebe harrumphed, and the two ladies descended into gentle bickering. Once their argument had come to an end, it was somehow decided that Aunt Phoebe would pay for a drawing master to come from the mainland to nurture Violet's burgeoning talent.

  "I don't think Papa will allow it," Violet said, knowing full well that he would not. Waldo would scoff at the very idea of lavishing any money on Violet when it could be spent on Sebastian.

  "Oh," Aunt Phoebe's eyes glistened with amusement, "I don't think your father will remain here much longer to object. You see, since poor Fifi's departure from this world, I have been afflicted with an illness."

  "An illness, Aunt?"

  "Yes," Phoebe gave a definite nod of her head, "Homesickness. I fear my travelling days are behind me, and that I intend to take up residence in Hebrides Hall on a permanent basis. Something, I know, your father might find trying."

  Indeed, once Phoebe declared that she was to stay, Georgette and Waldo made the quick decision to return to town.

  "I am needed in Parliament," Waldo sniffed.

  "And I am needed in Bond Street," Georgette winked.

  "And what about your daughter?" Phoebe queried, her gaze steely.

  "Well," Waldo blustered, "There's not much to Violet. And we're not expecting much of her. So--so--so we thought we'd just leave her here."

  Her nephew's summation that there was "not much" to his daughter was enough for Phoebe to discern that it was time she took Violet under her wing. Lady Havisham drew up a list of all her notable friends--who were many--and each month, a new visitor arrived on the island, to help expand Violet's mind.

  Along with these illuminating visitors, Aunt Phoebe arranged for painting lessons, new books, subscriptions to all the newspapers and periodicals, as well as granting Violet the freedom to roam the islands once more.

  The years passed quickly, interspersed with visits from her parents from town, and summers with Sebastian on his break from school. Violet grew into a young woman with definite ideas and dreams, none of which, she knew, would marry with her parents' wishes for her future.