by Platt, Meara
She wiggled her nose, for one of those bees had stung the tip, and she felt a light burning sensation where the unsightly bump was forming. “We’ll have to give it a few days for these horrid welts to disappear. Once they do, we shall go on with our lives.”
The little harridan tapped her cane to the floor once again. “But it did happen. No. We shall meet again in one week. At that time, I shall expect you to convince me that you can never love this man.”
Violet turned to look at him.
Blessed saints, he was handsome.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He really ought to put on a shirt to cover that golden-tanned chest of his. It was quite impossible for her to concentrate. Indeed, she was feeling quite giddy. Perhaps she’d inhaled too much vinegar. Yes, that was the more likely explanation for these heady sensations. “Lady Withnall, look at him. I doubt any young lady is capable of resisting him.”
She noticed the twitch of his lips and the amused arch of his eyebrow. Well, he was gloriously built. She wasn’t going to deny the obvious. Just as obvious was the fact that he was honorable. He’d rescued her and had not hesitated in proposing to her to preserve her reputation. “It isn’t me I’m concerned about.”
“I haven’t finished my terms, Violet. For you see, Mr. Brayden must also convince me that he can never fall in love with you.”
“What? Really, this is too absurd.” If her hand wasn’t occupied holding up her gown, she would have done something quite unladylike. Lady Withnall, despite her age and diminutive size, deserved a good poke in the nose.
“So, I suggest the pair of you waste no time in getting to know each other. I shall come to visit Mr. Brayden at the end of the week. I think a tea party is in order, Mr. Brayden. Invite the Farthingales, for I’ll tell you now, this incident will be an open secret.” She turned to John Farthingale. “You’ll tell Sophie,” she said, referring to his wife. “She will tell your daughters. They’ll tell their husbands.”
Lady Withnall was right.
Violet was already planning to write to her sister, Poppy, asking for urgent advice. Farthingales did not keep secrets among the family. Were the Braydens as loose-lipped? If so, they were in trouble.
How large was his family?
Within days, over thirty people would know. Trusted family members, of course. But still, too many to keep this unfortunate encounter a secret.
Violet sighed. “So, we must spend each day together, and at the end of those seven days, must prove to you we are not a good match? Is that all?”
“Yes, my dear. That is all…except…”
Mr. Brayden groaned. “Here it comes,” he whispered in her ear.
“He must not kiss you.”
Violet jumped to her feet. “That will never do. He must kiss me.” In the next moment, she realized what she’d just blurted. She felt her cheeks suffuse with heat. Good heavens, why had she said such a thing? “I mean…once. He must kiss me, but only once.” She glanced in dismay at the book Poppy had given her to read. It was all about love. She’d gotten only a few chapters into it. However, she’d read enough to know this particular experiment was too important to overlook.
Romulus Brayden simply had to kiss her.
She heard his light groan as he rose to stand beside her. He towered over her, really. Were all the Brayden men this big? And handsome?
He trained his attention on Lady Withnall, too busy hurling daggers at the woman to pay Violet any notice. “Ahem…Mr. Brayden.”
“What?” He tore his gaze away from Lady Withnall and settled a stormy frown on her. But his expression immediately softened as Violet returned his stare.
She cast him a gentle smile. “I expect I’m going to like your kiss.”
His lips twitched again.
Her uncles groaned, and she heard muttered whispers of murder if he tries it.
She ignored their ridiculous and misplaced protectiveness. “But I have no experience kissing men. I don’t think you will enjoy mine nearly as much as I shall enjoy yours.”
Her uncles renewed their whispers of death if he tries it, so she frowned at them before returning her attention to Mr. Brayden. “My point is, I believe we are safe. You’ll be able to honestly state that you did not like it, and we shall never suit.”
His amusement faded. “No one’s ever kissed you?”
“Well, my parents have. My cousins.” She motioned to her uncles. “My family has. But they don’t count. I’ve never been kissed romantically. So, you see, you’re–”
“Lady Withnall, you are pure evil,” Mr. Brayden said to the tiny woman who barely reached to his navel.
Violet’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Mr. Brayden! That is very rude of you.” He wasn’t wrong, merely rude. This woman had them trapped in a vise and was squeezing them unfairly. It was extortion, if one wanted to put a name to it. “I understand how you feel. But–”
“No, Miss Farthingale. You have no idea.”
Now he was being rude to her.
He groaned and turned to don his shirt that was damp and reeked of vinegar. He didn’t care and just stuck his head and arms through it and then turned away a moment to tuck it into his pants.
Oh, thank goodness. If she’d had to look at his magnificent chest a moment longer, she would have given in and accepted his proposal. She’d never seen such perfection.
A young lady could enjoy herself…
Which reminded her, she had to lace up her gown and cover her own shoulders. “Lady Dayne…”
Eloise understood her dilemma. “Gentlemen, leave us now. We’ll escort Violet home in a moment.”
Mr. Brayden turned to her as though he wished to say something more, then shook his head and grabbed his jacket and cravat. “I’ll see you later, Miss Farthingale.”
He’d already seen more than enough.
She knew he meant nothing by it, but her cheeks heated once again. “Yes…um…yes.” Well, that was clever.
She watched the men stride out of the kitchen, then adjusted her gown so that Eloise could lace it up for her. Lady Withnall did not take her eyes off her for a moment. “You are being most unfair to Mr. Brayden,” Violet said, returning Lady Withnall’s stare. “Won’t you reconsider?”
She simply tapped her cane again and sauntered off.
“Oh, Eloise. What am I to do? Can you not speak to your friend? Talk sense into her.”
“I wish I could, my dear. But there is no talking to her when she gets that look about her. Perhaps she’ll mellow in a few days and listen to reason.”
Violet emitted a breath of relief. “That would be wonderful. Do you think so?”
“No, my dear. Unfortunately, she seems quite set in her decision.”
Violet slumped her shoulders. “This is terrible. What am I to do?”
Eloise cast her a grandmotherly smile. “He is handsome, you must admit. Why don’t you take the week to get to know him?”
“I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?” She glanced at the red leather tome perched on the kitchen table. “I will not allow Lady Withnall to interfere with the course of my life, but Mr. Brayden may prove useful in educating me about men. One can read about them, but it isn’t quite the same thing as first-hand knowledge, is it?”
Eloise’s eyes rounded in obvious alarm. “Violet, you do not know what you are saying.”
What had she said that was so shocking? “I am quite aware of the importance of maintaining my reputation. It is Lady Withnall who seems determined to shred it, not me.” She picked up the book and held it up to Eloise. “My sister claims it is a brilliant scientific explanation of the course of true love. She suggests I test its theories on someone safe. Who better than Mr. Brayden?”
Eloise shook her head. “Oh, dear me.”
“We’re thrown together for the rest of this week anyway. It is obvious he’s a gentleman. So, where’s the harm in seeing how he responds to some of these ideas? I plan nothing wicked or immoral, I
assure you.”
Yet Eloise appeared unconvinced, her kind eyes wide and filled with amused concern. “Violet, I think I had better chaperone the two of you.”
“I’m sure it isn’t necessary. I doubt we’ll be left alone long enough for matters to get out of hand. My family will make certain of it.”
“Well, don’t try anything on him before you talk to me about it first. Goodness, you Farthingale girls are never dull. No, indeed. The London theaters are nothing to the entertainment you’ve provided. Better than any Covent Garden comedy.”
Violet felt none of Lady Dayne’s cheer. “It is more of a tragedy. Why would your friend insist on taking the choice away from us? It is our lives and happiness at stake. If word leaks out, that will be the end of my debut season. No man will come near me except for the dishonorable ones, and I’ll have nothing to do with them. More important, Mr. Brayden will insist on marrying me. It isn’t fair to him.”
Eloise finished lacing her up and turned her so that they faced each other. “Violet, have you not noticed?”
She tipped her head in confusion. “Not noticed what?”
“Mr. Brayden has not uttered a word of complaint about his punishment. He has gone along with Lady Withnall’s demands without a fuss. Indeed, it seems to me he does not seem to mind nearly as much as you do.”
Violet was surprised by the remark. “What are you suggesting? That he wants to marry me?”
“Yes, and why not? You are a lovely girl.”
“How could he tell beneath all the bee stings?” She shook her head and glanced down at the book in her hands. “We don’t know each other at all. I could not have made a less favorable impression. But if Lady Withnall will not relent and matters come to a head, then I had better read The Book of Love cover to cover. If we are trapped in an unwanted marriage, we’ll need to come to an understanding.”
“Oh, my dear. I hope you find much more than that.”
She sighed. “I hope so, too. Poppy insists this book holds the secret to making a man fall in love.”
Eloise patted her lightly on the hand. “Do you believe it does?”
Violet sighed again. “No, but I lose nothing by testing out its lessons on Mr. Brayden. I think I had better attend to it immediately. I wouldn’t feel so badly if he loved me. But Eloise, you know far more about men than I do.”
“Yes, my dear. I suppose I do.”
“Is it possible for him to fall in love with me in only one week?”
Chapter Three
Violet had been sent by her parents to reside with her Uncle John and Aunt Sophie on Chipping Way during her come-out season. They had generously agreed to sponsor her, and she now felt terrible all their efforts would go to waste if scandal broke out. Not that Farthingales were strangers to scandal. Had any of John and Sophie’s daughters enjoyed a traditional courtship?
The answer to that was a resounding no.
Her cousin Lily had been abducted and the Royal Society gone up in flames quite spectacularly during her courtship. Still, her husband Ewan Cameron and his dog Jasper, managed to fall in love with her when lesser men…and dogs…might have run away as fast as their legs would carry them.
“Aunt Sophie, once Mr. Brayden and his brother arrive, how long do you think they will be huddled in Uncle John’s study?” Violet had just come downstairs to join her aunt in the parlor while they awaited the arrival of Romulus Brayden and his brother.
James Brayden happened to be the Earl of Exmoor.
Perfect, not even through her first season and she’d already made an enemy of an earl. She deserved his anger, but hoped he would not direct it at her aunt and uncle as well. They were entirely innocent in this sad affair.
Hoping to make herself presentable, she had tried her best to wash the stench of vinegar off her body, using an oatmeal soap known for its soothing properties on the skin as well as for its mild scent. Afterward, she had donned a fresh gown, a pale lavender silk that was perhaps too formal for a quiet afternoon’s entertaining, but this was no ordinary afternoon.
Despite having been offered a seat on one of the delicate, blue silk-covered settees, she chose to remain standing by the doorway, her ears straining to hear the sound of Mr. Brayden’s voice at the front door. Or should she think of him as Captain Brayden? Perhaps Commander Brayden since she knew he had command of one of the ships in the Royal Navy fleet.
This was the problem. He was quite accomplished despite his relatively young age.
She had been sheltered all of her life and was not accomplished in anything.
There was nothing in the least remarkable about her, other than her singing voice. But that accounted for very little. She wasn’t the only debutante who could warble like a nightingale. And what practical use was it? Most men did not care if their wives could sing.
Indeed, while women seemed to enjoy evening musicales, most men detested them and would strain for any reason to beg out of attending. She knew this first hand from the Farthingale men who constantly came up with excuses not to sit for hours listening to the dulcet tones of their daughters or nieces.
“Do sit down, Violet. Fretting will not make Mr. Brayden arrive any sooner,” her elderly, and very crusty Aunt Hortensia grumbled as she entered the parlor and settled her ample frame in one of the matching blue chairs beside the settee. No doubt, Hortensia wanted to be perfectly positioned to watch the explosion of fireworks when the Braydens arrived. “Nor will it make your predicament disappear.”
“I know.” Still, she remained standing by the door, trying to ignore her aunt’s disapproving gaze.
Hortensia meant well, but she sometimes had such a sour disposition, it was not at all pleasant to be around her. Violet loved her, of course. But did everyone have to pass comment on her situation? It was unnecessary and not in the least helpful.
She did not need Hortensia’s prophecies of doom and gloom just now and was considering how to politely tell her to mind her own business when the Braydens arrived.
Violet clasped her hands and took a deep breath, forgetting her aunt for the moment since the intractable family elder was firmly planted in her wing chair. All Hortensia lacked was a box of marzipan or chocolates to munch on while the fireworks went off around her.
Violet expected a running commentary from her, too. Farthingales were known for their meddling. It is what they did best.
To her surprise, Lord Exmoor had brought along his wife, so that Mr. Brayden arrived with both of them. Well, perhaps not so surprising. Lord Exmoor, being the ever dutiful and protective brother, must have asked his wife to join them in order to find out more about this interloper who had tricked Romulus into marriage.
Lady Exmoor was several years older than Violet, but hardly matronly. Indeed, she looked young, and upon quick inspection, Violet decided she was beautiful in a warm, approachable way. She had a sparkling smile and obviously knew the Farthingale family quite well.
She and Aunt Sophie greeted each other as longtime friends, kissing each other on the cheek and exchanging “Good afternoon, Sophie,” for they were both named Sophie, to add to Violet’s confusion.
Lady Exmoor greeted Hortensia more formally because her prickly manner required it. Only then did she turn to Violet and cast her a warm, welcoming smile. “There seems never to be a dull moment on Chipping Way or in the Farthingale household. And now you and Romulus have collided. I wish I had been there to see it.”
Violet sighed. “They are hanging him out to dry because of his good deed. It isn’t fair.”
“Life is never fair,” Hortensia intoned before anyone had the chance to utter a more cheerful response.
Violet held her comments while the Farthingale butler, Pruitt, rolled in the tea cart and set out the pot, cups, and cakes. Those lovely looking cakes had been elegantly placed on display on a tiered plate.
When Pruitt left, Lady Exmoor took a seat beside Violet on the settee and gave her hand a comforting pat. “Romulus is no milksop. He’ll fight for hi
mself, assuming he really wishes to. He is a naval captain, after all, and no stranger to fierce battles. He’s been fighting the savage pirates who prowl off the coast of Cornwall and Wales for several years now. Made quite a name for himself. James,” she said, referring to her husband the earl, “is very proud of him.”
Violet glanced at the study door. The men had been in there only a few minutes.
Lady Exmoor followed her gaze. “They’re discussing the betrothal terms. I’m sure there is a lot to review. I doubt they will come out to join us any time soon. Another hour, I should think. What do you suppose, Sophie?”
Aunt Sophie tried to appear calm, but Violet knew she was also fretting, for her gaze was constantly darting to the study door, and she was nibbling her lip. “Oh, yes. At least one hour.”
Lady Exmoor seemed far more relaxed. Indeed, she was still smiling.
Hortensia was frowning, but she always frowned, so that was no indication of anything.
“James and Romulus are honorable to the point of making one want to scream,” Lady Exmoor remarked, casually sipping her tea. “There will be little argument, for they won’t quibble about anything. You will be well provided for, Violet. Whatever your uncle demands, they’ll accede to it.”
Violet’s heart sank, for not only had she trapped Mr. Brayden in an unwanted marriage, but her family was going to bleed him dry. “Lady Exmoor, this does not make me feel better.”
“I knew I’d like you. You are worried for Romulus and wish to protect him. Have you seen the size of him? He is quite capable of protecting himself.” She laughed lightly. “Of course, you’ve taken notice of him. He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”
Violet grimaced but nodded. “Yes, very.”
“Ah, an honest answer. I fear it is so rare these days to find that trait among those in Society, especially when the season is at its height. Mothers will lie, cheat, and steal to trap a worthy bachelor. What is the expression? All is fair in love and war. But it should not be so. No man wants to marry a woman he cannot trust. Lies and trickery are never acceptable. He will value your honesty.”
