by Platt, Meara
He cleared his throat and turned away to direct the workmen in placing the furniture in the appropriate rooms. Violet modified some of his suggestions, muttering something about the flow of a room and seating arrangements. At times, he stood back and watched her go about her business. He was going to make a fool of himself over this girl if he studied her much longer. But how could he stop staring?
She wasn’t merely beautiful. She was fascinating in a warm, appealing way. He doubted he would ever tire of looking at her lovely face or not be drawn in by her expressive eyes. “Violet, have you been in General Allworthy’s home before?”
“Other than yesterday’s spectacular visit?” She had a sweetly wicked grin.
He laughed. “Yes, other than yesterday. You only saw the kitchen and that hardly counts.”
“I’ve never been inside. May I wander around now?”
“Of course. Anywhere you please.” This would be her home by next week if Lady Withnall chose not to keep silent about his oafish hands all over the delicious girl.
“Do you think he has a music room? Aunt Hortensia claims he did once. There may be a pianoforte hiding in here somewhere.”
“There is, but it’s covered in a dusty sheet. Do you play?” He groaned inwardly. He liked Violet, he truly did. But if he had to listen to one more accomplished debutante bang on the keys and sing like a sick cat, he was going to do himself in.
“My cousin Dillie is the one who plays best. I play adequately. I’m much better at singing. Shall I sing for you?”
Bloody hell.
He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Well, perhaps another time. The workmen are here, and I’ll be interviewing the household staff shortly. The first of them will be arriving at any moment.”
“Romulus Brayden, are you cringing at the thought?” She shook her head and emitted a merry trill of laughter. “You look like you’d rather walk through fire than hear me sing. I promise you, I’m not that bad.”
“I’m sure you have the voice of an angel.”
“In fact, I do. But no matter. You needn’t listen to me. I’ll go find the piano and tinker with it until the interviewees arrive. You can stick your fingers in your ears if my howling bothers you, although I’ll do my best to be quiet.” She glanced at the front door. “I wonder what’s keeping Aunt Sophie and Mrs. Mayhew?”
With a shrug, she went off in the direction he’d pointed to find the music room.
He hoped he hadn’t been too rough on Violet, but it was only ten o’clock in the morning, and he really did not need a soprano shrieking out high notes at this early hour. He preferred to have a few drinks in him first to numb him from the noise, and he tried never to drink before late afternoon.
“Ye’re a lucky man, m’lord,” the foreman said after placing his bed and bureau in the master bedchamber. Romulus had gone upstairs with the man to direct the other workmen. The strains of a slightly out of tune piano carried into his bedchamber. Violet had obviously found the instrument and was testing it out.
“Lucky?”
“Yer wife, m’lord. She’s a beautiful lass. Lovely smile.”
Romulus nodded. “She’s a good egg.” He groaned inwardly. Violet would club him if she heard herself described as that. A good egg. One described one’s addled but well-meaning grandfather as that. Violet, if she was an egg at all, was a magnificent, amply endowed, bewitching egg. “Yes, she’s lovely.”
He did not bother to correct the man about his marital status, for it was too complicated to explain. It was no one’s business anyway. Moreover, it felt to him as though Violet belonged here.
Violet’s voice drifted up to them and caught his attention.
The workmen also stopped to listen.
Blessed saints. She’d told him she had a nice voice. She wasn’t jesting. Angel. Nightingale. Magnificent. Those words rattled around in his head. He didn’t even need to imbibe strong spirits to tolerate it.
He went downstairs and stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest while he watched her play a country lilt and quietly sing along to it. She sang softly, not realizing her voice carried throughout the house, no doubt because of a design quirk of the room.
He imagined this chamber back in the day, packed with guests seated in their chairs as the performers made their way to the front of the room and sang their arias or played their harps or violins.
Violet stopped suddenly and turned to him, her cheeks a cherry red. “How long have you been standing there?”
“A while.”
“You should have stopped me. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He unfolded his arms and crossed to her side. “You didn’t. The workmen enjoyed hearing you sing.”
“They heard me? Upstairs?”
“Yes. You weren’t too loud. It’s the way the sound carries in the room. There is a science to it. Your voice carried everywhere.”
“Oh, dear.”
“It was splendid, Violet. Truly.”
She shook her head and rose. “I think I hear Aunt Sophie and Mrs. Mayhew. I’ll show them to the kitchen. We’ll take inventory of all you need. Of course, call me if you’d like me to sit in on any of your interviews. Aunt Sophie will likely be more helpful. Oh, and I almost forgot…Mrs. Mayhew said her nieces were maids in the Duke of Danforth’s residence. But he passed away last week and it seems his nephew will be bringing in his own staff. So, I thought you might like to interview them as well. The older niece, Cora, would make a good housekeeper. She’s clever and diligent.”
“Have you met them?”
“Yes, they served as the children’s nannies for a short time in Aunt Sophie’s home. That was the season several of the nannies quit all at once, then another nanny got sick, and another eloped. Cora and Mary stepped in and did an admirable job of watching over the young ones. Aunt Sophie would have kept them on, but she and Uncle John do not stay in town year-round. They return to their home in Coniston for summers and Christmas. The nieces were quickly hired by the duke’s housekeeper, so all worked out well.”
“Thank you, Violet. I’ll gladly meet them. Let Mrs. Mayhew know.”
She seemed pleased.
He shook his head and walked out with her to meet Sophie Farthingale and her cook, Mrs. Mayhew, as they entered his home.
By noontime, his furniture was in place, he’d hired a butler and two footmen, and expected to hire the Mayhew nieces as housekeeper and maid by tomorrow. Their interviews were a mere formality. Once the elder Mayhew niece accepted to come on as his housekeeper, he’d leave the rest of the staffing to her.
He’d also leave the matter of cleaning the house to her.
As for properly furnishing the rest of the house, he’d ask Violet and the two Sophies to help him out.
He went into the kitchen to forage for food.
Violet, her aunt, and their cook were in there still making lists of all he lacked. They looked at him as though he was an interloper. “I’m hungry,” he explained. “Are we all out of the currant scones you brought over earlier, Mrs. Mayhew?”
“Dear me, yes. Those were eaten by the workmen within minutes of my arrival.”
Violet cast a pleading look at her aunt, who cast her a nod in return.
“Mr. Brayden,” Violet said, smiling warmly, “please join us for lunch. You have nothing decent here. We can’t allow you to starve. It wouldn’t be neighborly.”
“I’m hardly in danger of that, but thank you. I’d like that.” He walked to the Farthingale home with the three ladies and was immediately made to feel comfortable amid the horde seated around their enormous dining table.
Violet’s aunt did not run a household, she ran a chaotic, undisciplined regiment.
Her aunt must have sensed what he was thinking, for she laughed softly and shook her head. “It is a bit much, isn’t it? I thought we would quiet down once our daughters were married and out of the house, but they keep coming over to visit, often bring their husbands and children along. We are
never alone.”
Violet joined in on the conversation. “Then there’s the rest of the family who think nothing of visiting for months at a time. I was sent here for my debut season, which I’ve managed to botch, I suppose. My Oxfordshire cousins will arrive shortly. You’ll like Honey and Belle. They are next to be herded like cattle to the marriage mart.”
He tried to follow the names and relations, but men were never good at this sort of thing. The Farthingale women, as beautiful as they were, just became a big jumble in his head. Violet stood out, of course.
Her spectacular eyes.
Her body that would have him panting like a dog if he weren’t careful. He’d seen more of her than any man who wasn’t her husband ought to have seen. The hint of her bosom. Her long, shapely legs.
“Romulus,” Violet said, cutting into his wayward thoughts. What was wrong with him? And what was it about Violet that turned him mindless? “I’d like to introduce you to a few more of my cousins.”
Lord, more names to remember.
Most of the men were at their offices, so he was surrounded by women and children. He responded politely when introduced to Violet’s cousins, Daffodil and Daisy. “Call me Dillie, everyone does,” one of the pretty, dark-haired, blue-eyed, young women said, smiling at him. “I detest the name Daffodil. But I think my parents were caught by surprise when I popped out right after Lily. I don’t think they were expecting twins and had to scramble for another flower name. Do you know my husband, the Duke of Edgeware?”
“Everyone does.” Blessed saints. She was Edgeware’s wife? He was the duke who was never going to marry. She was the girl who’d saved his sorry life twice. No wonder the man had fallen in love with her. Dillie was beautiful. More than that, there was a warmth and vitality to her that could not be overlooked.
“Daisy’s husband is Lady Dayne’s grandson, Gabriel,” Violet remarked.
“I know of him as well.” Romulus took a closer look at Violet’s two cousins. They looked remarkably like Violet, but Violet… Lord, she did something to him. Her cousins were beautiful, for certain. But there was so much more to them than merely their fine looks. “A pleasure to meet you, Daisy.”
He meant it, too. Gabriel Dayne had been awarded an earldom for his bravery during the war. His work had saved thousands of British lives, but Daisy had saved Gabriel and broken up a spy ring in the process. Indeed, these Farthingale women were extraordinary.
The meal was delicious, for Mrs. Mayhew’s kitchen staff was well trained.
Everyone chattered around the table, all talking at once and mostly tossing questions at him, but he did not mind. Half the time, the conversation moved on before he had time to respond, and he particularly enjoyed the children’s questions. “Are you bigger than a house? Are you bigger than an elephant?”
No. And no.
“Are you a gladiator?” a young cousin by the name of Charles asked.
“I’m a sailor.”
The boy’s eyes grew so wide, they bulged from their sockets. “On a sailing ship? A real ship?”
“Yes, I’m captain. My frigate is being repaired right now. Our mizzenmast was damaged during our battle with the dastardly pirate, Red-Eye McFlynn.”
“Pirates!” The children sat rapt as he told them of the battle. He embellished a little, of course. He did not swing on the rigging, sword in hand, to leap onto the pirate ship. Nor did he engage in a sword fight with McFlynn. But there was hand-to-hand combat, and he did knock out the bastard when he’d tried to stick a dirk into Romulus’s gut.
By the time the meal was over, Romulus was eager for quiet.
But he’d promised to read The Book of Love with Violet, and he was not about to renege. In any event, Violet was quiet by nature. She’d hardly said two words throughout their meal. Not that anyone gave her the chance.
He looked forward to a little time alone with her.
They’d be in full sight of anyone who cared to observe them from the house.
The rain had stopped, and the sun was now breaking through the clouds to shine down on the Farthingale garden. The air was warm and humid, but Romulus was used to the sea air, so this moisture bothered him little.
He waited for Violet on the bench near the dividing wall, taking a moment to scan for the angry bees. They were definitely gone. He only saw one or two hovering by the bed of flowers along with several butterflies. One of them was a magnificent purple color.
He thought of Violet.
She walked toward him moments later with the red book in hand. Her steps were light and naturally graceful, almost flitting like that of a delicate butterfly. He smiled at her and rose to greet her. “Is supper like this as well?”
“Oh, no. The children don’t join us for supper. But I rather enjoy having them about during the day. Did you see the excitement in their eyes when you spoke of your pirate battles? I was enthralled as well. I had no idea you faced such dangers daily.”
He shrugged. “We patrol along the Irish Sea and St. George’s Channel mostly. Sometimes the Atlantic Ocean, but it is too vast to properly patrol. The pirates easily avoid us out on the high seas. We are more effective keeping close to land, catching them in sight of a port or smuggler’s cove. We engage them in battle when we find them, but most of the time, they manage to evade us. McFlynn was my toughest assignment. He controlled a pirate fleet of ten ships. They sailed together, like a wolf pack on the prowl.”
She settled on the bench, now holding the book on her lap. “You were alone against ten?”
He sat beside her. “No, we sailed in our own naval pack. We were six, but first-class frigates. Their ten vessels were no match for us.” He glanced at the book. “I’ve been talking about myself too long. Let’s talk about love now.”
Her cheeks turned bright pink.
He’d spoken lightly, his manner teasing. But he was eager to learn as much as he could about falling in love. How did one go about it? Was it something that just happened?
How was it different from lust?
Of course, he knew it was different. He had seen the way his brother behaved toward his wife, and the way his married cousins behaved toward their wives. Cow-eyed, besotted, ready to do anything to make them happy.
He didn’t like to think he would allow any woman to walk all over him like that. However, being with Violet did not feel like a duty or obligation, nor did he mind any of her demands. Not that she’d been demanding at all. It bothered him that she was requiring so little of him.
Perhaps this is why he enjoyed her company. She wasn’t meek, but she was soft and gentle. She stirred his protective instincts in a way no other woman ever had. In truth, she could ask things of him, and he would comply without fuss or hesitation.
Well, he’d practically undressed her in his kitchen.
He owed her some recompense for that.
He still wanted to undress her.
How did this innocent girl rouse such sinful thoughts in him?
“When my sister gave me this book, she warned it might not make sense at first. She made me promise to read it in its entirety.”
“And share it with me?”
Violet nodded. “I don’t see why not. Poppy shared it with her husband before they were married, so I think it is perfectly fine for me to share it with you now. After all, we only have one week before Lady Withnall lowers her verbal axe on us. With so little time to get this right, isn’t it important for us to work together?”
“I agree. Let’s start. Where do we begin?”
Chapter Six
Violet opened to the first chapter and began to read. “Love does not come from the heart but from the brain. It is the brain that sends signals throughout the body, telling you what to feel. Therefore, to stimulate a man’s arousal–”
“What?” Romulus placed a hand over the page to stop her from reading further. “Is it a book about sex acts? Forget it.”
“Don’t you dare take it from me.” Violet frowned at him. “It isn’t abou
t that at all. It’s scientific.”
“It’s indecent.” And he did not need a book to tell him just how indecent his thoughts about Violet were. Nor—Lord help him—did he need Violet to read to him in explicit detail just how many positions the male and female bodies could contort into when coupling.
“How can you make that claim when you haven’t read it? Please let me finish the paragraph. You promised. Will you prove yourself a liar and say you didn’t?”
“I did promise. But you misled me. There is nothing scientific about arousing a man.”
“See, you are already leaping to false conclusions. This is what the book is all about. Listening. Hearing. Seeing the truth, not what you imagine it to be. Will you let me continue?”
Against his better judgement, he removed his hand.
She took up where she’d left off. “Therefore, to stimulate a man’s arousal response, one must arouse his sense receptacles in a pleasing way. By touch, taste, sight, smell, and hearing. This author explains how we must properly use the five senses to find true love.” She glanced up at him. “I will admit, I did not make a good first impression.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t suppose I did either.”
“You were brave and heroic. I was ghastly. I could not have appealed to your senses in any way. For touch, I crashed into you while running from the bees. As for the sense of hearing, I was shrieking at the top of my lungs, so I must have shattered your eardrums. Are they still recovering?”
He grinned back. “My hearing is only now starting to return.”
“The sense of smell, you doused that ghastly vinegar all over me. I think I still reek of it. I must smell like something pickled, even though I’ve been scrubbing my skin with oatmeal soap ever since. That leaves the senses of taste and sight.” She sighed. “I was aiming at the bees, but I kept hitting you with this book, so I don’t know how you managed to get a good look at me while your hands were in front of your face to protect yourself.”
“I looked my fill later in the kitchen.” Whatever irritation he’d felt toward her had simply melted away as he’d unlaced her gown. Touch. Her skin, as he’d run his hands over her body and slid them along her spectacular legs, was silky soft. Sight. The sight of her breasts as the gown slipped low. He’d only seen the swell of those mounds, nothing more. It was enough to tip him over the edge.
