Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London Book 4)

by Beverley Oakley

  “In half an hour, I do. And it really is very important that we both decide how you’re going to ask me to marry you.” She bit her lips together to suppress the mirth that was ready to escape, even as he realised what she meant.

  “My, my, but you’re a funny girl, Violet,” he chided, raising an eyebrow. “A clever one too, as I’ve already said—so I think I hardly need to remind you that this is all a charade.”

  “A charade? Did I not give satisfaction, my Lord?” she asked with mock indignation. “Did you not enjoy my willing wantonness and my clever moves as much as last time? After what you said just now”

  “Do stop, my dear. I enjoyed it far too much for a man aspiring to a measure of chivalry, and I’d be too aggrieved to think that you, in fact, were only pretending to please me and to be pleased.”

  “It was all genuine enough.” She sighed, running her hands over his chest. “Unfortunately. For I could think of nothing nicer than to do this with you on a very regular basis. But I’m not the hopeless romantic your aunt is. Experience has made me pragmatic, and so I will simply appreciate the next three weeks until I must farewell you to Africa and hope you’ll remember me when you return.”

  He sat up and stroked her hair, tidying a ringlet by smoothing it around his finger. “What a gem you are, Violet. All right then, how would I ask you to marry me?” He was softly stroking her breasts as he murmured this. Then gently spanning her waist with his hands as he moved her off the bed and onto the floor where they stood, naked, face to face.

  “I think there should be an orchestra playing,” he said, as he raised one hand to her shoulder, the other still round her waist. “A gentle waltz should be playing in the background and your—” He broke off, adding, “Yes; your head would be resting against my chest, just like that, as we circled the floor, the scent of summer drifting through the open French doors. And I’d look down at you and whisper, ‘Violet, I don’t think I can live without you. Will you marry me?’ ”

  Violet raised her head to look at him. She knew her eyes were moist, and she didn’t care. She raised her hand to touch his cheek. “I’ve known that for a long time, darling,” she whispered. “I’ve just been waiting.” She sighed, shaking herself back to reality as she managed a watery smile. “There, that should satisfy your aunt.”

  For a moment, he was silent. “Yes, it should.” His tone was sober as he took her hand and led her to the sofa by the fire, dragging the counterpane from the bed to cover them both as they sank down onto the velvet.

  He took both her hands in his. “How did you come by this way of life?” he asked.

  Caught by surprise, Violet gave a short laugh. “We don’t want to mix fact with fiction here, Max. Let’s just concoct our fantasy for your aunt’s sake. That way we’ll not run the risk of being exposed.”

  He gave a half nod. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “So, now that you know how you asked me to marry you, how did you meet me? When did you fall in love with me?”

  He sent her a mischievous smile. “I’ll confess to being as big a romantic as Aunt Euphemia. When did I meet you? When did I know I was in love with you? Why, like you, lovely Violet, it was love at first sight. Yes, I fell in love with you the moment I set eyes on you.”

  “And where did you set eyes on me?”

  He squinted at her. “You’re testing me, aren’t you? You’ve already told Aunt Euphemia, and you told me too.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling, thinking. “You worked in a shop. A haberdasher’s. Yes! And I stepped over the threshold looking for gentleman’s handkerchiefs and was served by you. The most stunning creature I’d ever laid eyes upon.”

  “Aren’t you sweet, darling.”

  “I do like the way that rolls off your tongue.”

  “The way what rolls off my tongue?”

  “The endearment. And a great many other things. Are you sure you don’t have time for another—?”

  “I wish! But no, Max.” Violet rose, gripping the counterpane against her chest and taking a few steps away, turning to cast an incisive look at the evidence of his desire. “My Lord, but you are magnificently endowed. It has been a pleasure!”

  With a shout of laughter, Max leapt up and snatched the counterpane from her grasp, whisked her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  “What can’t we achieve together, and in five minutes?” he growled, dropping her onto the mattress and caging her body with his. “Do say yes, my darling.”

  “Yes, yes, and yes!” she cried, her heated body so ready for his frenzied kisses. “I think I’d say yes to anything you asked of me—but I think you also know that.”

  “All I know is that you’re the most delightful morsel I’ve ever tasted,” he responded, coming up from between her legs and kissing her roundly on the mouth. “Now, let round two begin! I honestly don’t think I can get enough of you! Yet, alas, this will be our last time engaging in such sport if I’ve an ounce of chivalry in my bones.”

  Chapter 6

  In her cosy sitting room, Aunt Euphemia gazed misty-eyed at Max as, with a great deal of throat clearing, he said the words he knew she’d been wanting to hear.

  He knew she wanted to hear them because she’d said only several nights earlier, “Darling Max, nothing could make me happier than for me to receive the news that you had in fact asked the girl of your heart to become your wife.”

  Clapping her hands together now, she rose and swept across the room to enfold him in her violet-scented embrace.

  The cool of her cheek was a well-remembered comfort, but the violet scent sparked a new emotion to life. He must remember to buy Violet both flowers and scent to honour her name. She’d like that.

  “Your cousin Emma will be overjoyed for she has just as soft a heart as I do.” Then, more gravely, “Your grandfather will come around when he realises how much further a man can go with a good woman by his side. Regardless of her origins. And that’s what a match of the heart will promote. Harmony which leads to success. A marriage should not be restricted by pecuniary considerations.”

  “Did you not agree that grandfather should be kept in the dark until the deed is done, Aunt?” Max patted her hand and led her back to her seat. Lowering himself into a wingback chair opposite, he said over steepled fingers, “Truly, I would beg you to keep this in the strictest confidence.”

  “Oh Max, you’re going to elope? No, please don’t say it?” Aunt Euphemia’s face dropped. “Why, the poor young woman will suffer terribly from the shame of it. She’ll miss all the joy of planning the most joyous occasion of her life. Believe me, I know this from my heart.”

  “I think my Violet is somewhat different to you, Aunt, but I will bear it in mind. The young lady is an orphan…” he had to think quickly about this “…and earns her living through her own means—”

  Aunt Euphemia cut him off, clicking her tongue as she sympathised. “An orphan? How tragic! And she works in a haberdashery. What hard work that must be, but I would have done it rather than lived my life alone as a spinster. Still, I can provide what others cannot, and it would be a pleasure.” The enthusiasm returned to her tone. “I want to take her shopping, Max. I’ll buy her a wedding gown and her trousseau. If she’s the girl who has stolen your heart, then she’s as dear to me as my own daughter would have been.”

  Her lip trembled as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. She looked small and frail seated on the cream chintz sofa of the femininely decorated private sitting room in Lord Granville’s townhouse that Max always thought so crowded during his grandfather’s rare visits to the city.

  Squaring her shoulders, a crafty light stole into her expression, and she clapped her hands. “Indeed, let’s tell her this very minute! Come, Max. We’ll go to her place of employ and surprise her!”

  “Dear Aunt, she’s…working. Or resting,” Max added beneath his breath. “We cannot disturb her now. I think she would be embarrassed.”

  “Then we shall go immediately to her place of ab
ode so I might leave a note, myself. I want to know this young lady, Max. I don’t have long; you remember. What do I care for proprieties?”

  A little more than you might think if the truth were revealed, thought Max, who only said, unconvincingly, “We will send a note round, shall we?”

  “We shall get into the carriage this moment, Max, and find her. She’s not a slave to these people she works for, surely? No, I can’t wait a moment longer.”

  Max, who thought this could only go badly, was astonished by the results of the hastily scrawled note he’d sent ahead with his manservant, Baines.

  While he was delaying his aunt as best he could, he had thrust his note into Baines’s hand and hissed that he must discreetly forward the letter to its recipient and Max would explain everything at the first opportunity.

  But here was Miss Lilywhite smiling serenely at them from a table at the Lyons Teahouse, presenting herself as she no doubt had presented herself to his aunt, in a modest skirt and blouse which made her look every inch the smart shop girl Aunt Euphemia imagined her to be.

  “Why, I told Max you’d come rushing to meet us at the first opportunity,” his aunt said as if she could take all the credit. With a satisfied look at Max, then Violet, she said majestically, “The perfect pair. Handsome. Made for each other.”

  And then she proceeded to tell Violet her plans for the next two weeks, leading up to the secret wedding Max had proposed, embellishing it with all the details Max knew would occupy her with the greatest pleasure.

  “What do you think of all this, Max darling?”

  Max reacted to Violet’s question with a guilty jolt. What he’d really been thinking was how deliciously desirable Violet looked in her neat black suit. A siren dressed up as a lady of demure disposition, and only he knew it. It made him feel supremely fortunate.

  Instead, he murmured, “I was thinking how beautiful you looked,” as he reached across the table for her hand.

  Amused, he saw the colour creep into her cheeks as she bent her head.

  Aunt Euphemia sighed. “Why, the pair of you are quite delightful. And to think, Max, that I had no idea marriage with Mabel was simply an act of duty.”

  Violet flashed him a wicked smile. “Max is the most dutiful man I’ve ever met, Miss Thistlethwaite. Honourable, dutiful, and quite the handsomest man of my acquaintance. Believe me, I see many in my line of work.”

  Max blinked as his aunt murmured, “I’m sure you do. I’ve heard gentlemen can be most exacting when they’re after for something in particular.”

  “Very,” agreed Violet. She smiled. “I’ve learnt to be patient.” She sighed. “But Max was not difficult at all. That’s why I fell in love with him.”

  The way they were both looking at him as if he were an Adonis in terms of moral virtue, as well as physical attributes, made him realise the need to put an end to it.

  “Please, Violet, I think you’re doing it a little too brown.”

  “Goodness no, Max! You’re simply too modest.” She reined in her amusement and pushed back her shoulders. “But what do you really think of all this, Max? Your aunt is proposing to expend a great deal of money on me. I have nothing to contribute other than my company on the myriad exploits she’s just outlined. I’m beyond gratified, but I do think perhaps her generosity is beyond what is—”

  “No, no, my dear, nothing would give me more pleasure!” Miss Thistlethwaite protested.

  Gently, Max patted Violet’s wrist. “No one will think any the worse of you for accepting what is given with the greatest of good hearts.” The fondness in his smile was as much for his aunt as it was for Violet. “Now, I believe you two ladies have some shopping to do while I have some plans to make regarding our wedding tour. Venice, my love? What could be more romantic? Indulge Aunt Euphemia and you’ll be indulging me. I think you’ll find her enjoyment fully equal to yours throughout this venture.”

  Except that Violet was wise enough to know her enjoyment would be fast evaporating as the execution of their little charade for Miss Thistlethwaite’s benefit reached its conclusion.

  Still, she’d not lied when she’d told Max that a healthy pragmatism had helped her through life, though she did feel guilty as she waited for Miss Thistlethwaite at the entrance to what was supposedly London’s most fashionable modiste.

  Her guilt was only exacerbated by the genuine pleasure in her new benefactress’s expression, as Miss Thistlethwaite extended an arm in welcome before gesturing Violet to accompany her up the stairs to the studio of ‘a French woman of the greatest discernment.’

  Violet couldn’t help but draw an uncomfortable parallel. Madame Chambon considered herself such a personage, but the tall, elegant French modiste who briskly attended to Violet’s measurements was a league apart from the gross creature who directed Violet’s life.

  Still, how wonderful it was to forget all that for a few moments as she held out her arms so that the guipure-lace sleeves might be fitted to the tight princess-line bodice in a manner that would do justice to ’Miss Lilywhite’s perfect form,’ while Miss Thistlethwaite offered an enthusiastic commentary from the Chippendale chair that had been arranged for her beneath an arched window.

  “Of course, you must decide exactly how the gown shall look. Pay no mind to the fact I’m paying for it. Too vulgar to put that into words. However, when I was planning my own wedding gown after Richard offered so gallantly, I chose…”

  It wasn’t difficult to see how genuinely affected Miss Thistlethwaite was by the dismissal of her former suitor at the hands of her callous brother, and as Violet was uncomfortably mindful of the fact that her own preparations were no more than a farce, she was eager to allow Miss Thistlethwaite to channel her own thwarted dreams into Violet’s wardrobe.

  “Oh, my dear, but it is easy to see why Max loves you so.” Miss Thistlethwaite dabbed her eyes with a scrap of lace before running her admiring gaze from the hem of Violet’s swathed satin skirt to the veil of finest netting. “You are a vision. A vision in your daily attire, but what will he think when he sees you have become the fairy tale princess of his dreams?”

  Violet felt it, too. The exhilaration of becoming, even more, an object of admiration and desire. She wanted Max to see her as a princess, a lady. Not what he knew her to be.

  “Yet what are clothes when it’s all in the heart?” Miss Thistlethwaite tapped her chest. “I’d have happily forgone all the trappings my brother considered necessary to a person of my standing.”

  From the French modiste to Lyon’s teahouse on the second day of their furious pursuit of clothes, Miss Thistlethwaite showed as much eagerness as if she were the intended bride, prompting Violet to ask, “Is it true that your brother refused to sanction your marriage because he deemed your suitor unworthy, despite your feelings?”

  Miss Thistlethwaite nodded. “My Richard went to see him, cap in hand. I was sure Septimus would relent, eventually. It wasn’t as if there were any other prospective husbands lined up. I was twenty-five. Decidedly on the shelf and possessed of neither wit nor good looks.” Her smile was wry. “It’s hard to imagine my handsome Max is my own flesh and blood. Such a magnificent creature. Oh, but you and he will be so happy together!” She clasped her hands together. “Tell me, how did he propose?”

  Violet’s lighthearted mood had been swept away by the thought that the kindly woman opposite her had spent the past three decades lonely and disregarded. Now the weight of duplicity was added to her burden.

  “Max hasn’t told you?” she asked cautiously.

  Miss Thistlethwaite shook her head. “He hasn’t, no, though it’s clear enough how happy he is.” Again, her eyes filled with moisture. “What a pleasure it is to me to see true love shining from both of you like a beacon of hope. It’s my compensation,” she added softly. Then, more eagerly, “But do tell me, Violet.”

  Violet lowered her eyes to her hands that were fidgeting in her lap. Lying didn’t sit well with her, but she supposed it was in a good cause. She
smiled, remembering. Yes, remembering the way Max had drawn her from the bed and into his arms, tenderly waltzing her, naked, about the room, describing the scene as he’d offered her his pretend marriage proposal.

  She could see it in her mind’s eye as if it had really happened. Except that she was…

  “…wearing a lilac gown I’d made myself, Miss Thistlethwaite, and the orchestra was playing Brahms.” She smiled, closing her eyes, shivering as if she really could feel the soft pressure of Max’s hands upon her waist and shoulder. “Max had taken me to this marvellous place, and I thought myself the luckiest young woman in the entire world. Even luckier when he asked me to marry him, for I knew I…didn’t deserve him.”

  “My goodness, enough of such talk. You, Violet, are the most deserving young woman I’ve met. You work hard; you never complain, and…you love Max. That is all that is important in my mind. That my darling Max enjoy a union where love blooms mutually.” She patted Violet’s hand for Violet knew her expression had closed. Deserving was not a description that sat comfortably with her, either.

  “Max lost his mother so young. He’s been looking for love ever since and, like Septimus, I suppose, I thought Mabel was his perfect match. They’d known one another since they’d been children, and they seemed to get along like a house on fire. They were always so comfortable in one another’s company. But that’s not romantic love. I should have realised that. But tell me, exactly how long have you known one another?” Miss Thistlethwaite looked like an eager dormouse with her bright eyes seeking from Violet crumbs of happiness she might feast upon in her mind when she returned to her, no doubt, lonely apartments in her brother’s townhouse.

  “A little over a year. He first took me to see a play,” Violet said slowly, thinking about an interest the two of them shared. “The play was set in exotic lands and, as you know, Max loves adventure—”

  “Oh, he does indeed. Mabel didn’t, which is why it’s not so surprising she left him. That takes spirit, in my mind. But we won’t talk about that. It’s all worked out for the best. You now, Violet, are a woman with an adventurous spirit. One can see it in your eyes. So, what was this play about? Was it set in Africa or India, two of the very places Max is so eager to see?”