Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London Book 4)

by Beverley Oakley

  “You’re always masterful, Max.”

  It was true. Kind and masterful. A potent combination though she wouldn’t tell him that. Just as she wouldn’t tell him a great many other things she’d have liked. Baring her heart had never been a good idea. She’d learnt that from experience.

  “However, being masterful in this instance won’t get you what you want, for all that your aunt was very acquiescent to your persuasion that you see her home first, and now we’re alone in your carriage. As I said earlier, I’m very tired.”

  “You said you were more than ready for your bed. I distinctly heard you say it.” He grinned at her, confident he’d win her over.

  She was equally confident he wouldn’t. She’d been disappointed when he’d passed up earlier opportunities to sleep with her, but now she understood that his motivation came from the same sources as hers right now—he wanted to protect himself. The chemistry of their last, unforgettable physical encounter had been dangerously unsettling.

  “It’s too late to get a room at that discreet establishment I took you to, and you won’t come to Madame Chambon’s. You’ve already made it quite clear you’ll never step over the threshold of an establishment of that nature, and I applaud your high morality”

  He cut her off. “No, not Madame Chambon’s. I shall never darken the doorstep of a place like that again.” The furrow between his eyes deepened. “When I marry, I shall have no one else. My wife deserves a man of moral conviction.”

  “And she’ll be a lucky woman. But please stop doing that, Max. You shan’t win me over with your gentle back stroking or your winning looks. I’m tired.”

  “Yes, you look quite done in, if you don’t mind me saying it.” He was undeterred, clearly in top form after an evening which had only confirmed how much freedom he had as a gentleman of high standing; the way he’d sauntered with such confidence through the throngs at a society event where he was made welcome by all. His future was assured.

  “Max, don’t! I told you!” Immediately she’d snapped out the words she was contrite. “I beg your pardon. I had no right”

  “No, I had no right.” He wasn’t smiling now. He drew back a little but, as the carriage rounded the corner to Albemarle Street, he leaned forward and tentatively extended his hand though he didn’t touch her. “Why Violet, that’s surely not a tear? Have I offended you so much?”

  “I don’t know why I should be crying, and please don’t say that it’s beyond you why a woman like me should cry over such a matter.”

  “Good God, so that is the reason you’re crying. Because I pushed myself on you?”

  “You hardly did that, Max.” Violet closed her eyes as she leant her head against the cushioned squabs of the carriage interior. “Pay me no mind. I’m being very foolish. Thank you for a lovely evening.” With an effort, she stirred but as she shifted towards the door, the horses sprang into motion and she was pushed back against the seat again and Max’s voice was intruding, loud but anxious, “Don’t look so frightened. I’m not kidnapping you, but I can’t possibly see you leave when you’re clearly upset. We can drive about while you tell me exactly what’s troubling you. Is it me? Have you lost your heart for this charade? Are there better fish to fry? Men who’ll pay you more money?”

  “How dare you!?”

  He nodded. “Good, I was hoping to see your fiery spirit return by such a caddish remark.” He crossed his arms and regarded her steadily. “So, out with it. Why are you upset?”

  She shrugged and shook her head, not knowing how she could even explain it to herself.

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  “No, you’ve behaved with honesty and transparency. I’m not used to that. Perhaps I was crying because I don’t know when I’ll next meet a man who offers me something with no hidden caveats, or broken promises.”

  “Ah.” Despite the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the creak of harness, it was suddenly very quiet inside the carriage. “And you don’t expect anything beyond that?”

  “Of course I don’t! Surely you don’t imagine that I do.” She was upset he might attribute hidden designs to her.

  “I don’t. Most women in your position would, I imagine.”

  She shrugged. “It’s so easy to imagine that would be the case.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You think we’re all the same. That prostitutes are all motivated by the same thing.”

  Max blinked. “I haven’t thought much about it at all, I have to be honest.” He looked concerned. “That paints me in a very entitled light, doesn’t it?”

  “You are entitled. That’s all right. I understand. We are all who we are because we’re shaped by our circumstances. I don’t expect enlightenment and compassion from the men who pay me.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. You could have found a better way of phrasing it without demeaning yourself. Besides, it makes you sound far too intelligent for the work you do. If you want to know the truth, the only time I ever think of you as a—”

  “Prostitute.”

  He sighed and repeated the word grudgingly, adding, “Is when you say it yourself. So, tell me, why did you choose this path?”

  She burst out laughing. “No woman chooses this path. It chooses them! Now, the carriage has gone around the block twice; we’ve had a lovely conversation; you’ve told me all you need to in order to satisfy myself as to the kind of man you are, and you are in no doubt as to the kind of woman I am. All pretences have been laid to rest and now I must claim mine.”

  “I’m not delivering you to Madame Chambon’s just yet. I’m worried about you, Violet.” He rapped on the roof and gave the coachman directions for his own home. “Now, before you object,” he said, holding up his hand for silence, “let me assure you that I am paying you for your time, not the services you’ll feel duty bound to render me.” His determined expression was softened by a smile. “Yes, we have a contract, but that contract was quite specific in terms of you upholding a well-motivated charade that’ll keep my aunt happy.” He paused. “Not me. Last time I lapsed, but I’ll not do it again. For fear of repeating myself, I am not in the habit of paying women for sex. I can find my own willing dalliances for free, thank you very much.”

  Violet managed a watery smile. “Much too noble, aren’t you, Lord Belvedere? So now you propose to take me somewhere to talk to me because you’re concerned that I’m unhappy.” She paused and raised an eyebrow. “Yet you have no intention of doing anything else, even though you’re paying for my time because that was not in the contract.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. You’re my greatest challenge all of a sudden, lovely Violet. See, we’re at my townhouse. The servants are asleep, including the butler and manservant. There is no danger of anyone’s reputation—including my own—being compromised provided you stay quiet.”

  “Stay quiet?” She managed a sceptical laugh. “Despite the onslaught of delights with which you’ll no doubt shower me?”

  “I told you. That’s not my intention at all. We shall repair to my sitting room for a glass of champagne while we play draughts—at which I’ll allow you to win this time. And we’ll chat. Isn’t that what you women love to do?”

  She deliberately narrowed her gaze, and he raised his hands in the air in a gesture of supplication. “Yes, I’m humouring you, but if you must know, it’s only to prove to myself that I can behave like a gentleman of honour under any situation.”

  “I hardly think there’s any reason to feel embarrassed by your lapse last time.” Violet studied her fingernails. “I enjoyed it more than I usually do.” There, that should underscore the way it was between them even though it cheapened what had been, to her, a surprisingly rare and poignant intimacy.

  Instead of meeting this with bluff good humour as she’d expected, he considered her a moment. Something indefinable flashed across his expression. If she didn’t know better, she might have identified it as hurt.

  But then his smile was
back, and his tone was brisk, and he was holding out his hand to help her from the carriage. “Here we are. Half an hour and then I’ll send you home. This is just to humour me, as you correctly said. Gentlemen don’t like to think they can’t live up to the expectations they’ve set themselves.”

  “Of course they don’t.” Violet didn’t trouble to hide the cynicism in her tone. This was about him, not her. She’d be a fool to imagine that last time had been any different.

  In the quiet of his private apartment on the first floor, she smiled at the draughts board already in place on the table.

  “Premeditated, I see.”

  “Not at all. I often play draughts with myself.” He positioned himself opposite her and indicated the board. “Black or white?”

  “I daresay since you are used to being both, I won’t be depriving you of a favourite if I choose white.”

  “In deference to your name, of course.” He turned the board so her triangle of white pieces was positioned in front of her. “My grandfather was always white, too.” He sent her a wicked grin. “So, it’s little different from what I’m used to. I’m just playing a more attractive opponent. Now, your glass, Madam.” He handed her a glass of fizzing liquid which Violet raised in salute.

  Even before her first sip she was feeling surprisingly relaxed. Foolish girl.

  His eyes sparkled at her over the top of the glass. “To what shall we toast?”

  “That we are good enough at our little deception to bring tears of happiness to your aunt’s eyes.”

  “That’s rather sweet. I like that.” He raised his glass. “To my dear aunt who, I must add, likes you very much, Violet. As do I.”

  “I know you do.” Violet sent him a look that was half suggestive, half genuine. She couldn’t decide how she felt. “Just not enough.”

  “Now, don’t spoil it. I thought you were cleverer than that. We get along famously, and I shall look back at these few weeks with great fondness.”

  “When you’re having your grand adventures shooting lions and evading headhunters in the African jungle.”

  He grinned. “Precisely. I can’t wait to go, to be honest.” Toying with one of the black pieces, he sighed. “Grandfather is dreadfully down on me for not persuading Mabel back to the negotiating table, but we’re both determined not to be goaded into this thing, for all that it makes good financial sense.”

  “You make marriage sound dreadfully unromantic.”

  “Well, it isn’t very romantic. Not for people like me.” He topped up their glasses. “I have to marry a girl who fits my grandfather’s criteria since I’m to inherit everything he has spent his lifetime safeguarding and building up. Do you know how hard it is to find a lifetime companion who won’t drive one mad and who has the approval of the family?”

  “So that’s why you’re running away to Africa?”

  “Precisely.” He nodded. “Self-preservation and to buy myself a few years. What choice do I have but to escape my family following this debacle with Mabel?” He finished his champagne and put down his glass. “I presume that’s why you’re throwing your youth and beauty into Lord Bainbridge’s hands now that he’s finally made you the offer you’ve been hoping for. He’s hardly what I’d consider a particularly fine specimen of manhood.”

  “Jealous?” Violet teased.

  Something flitted across his face again and then was gone. “Your turn,” he said, bending over the board and studying the placement. “I still think you could do better than Lord Bainbridge.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “And why are you a beggar, lovely Violet?” His eyes were bright with curiosity—or from the alcohol.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “No, I probably wouldn’t.” He shrugged. “You clearly have an active imagination, though. I think Aunt Euphemia was suitably distressed to hear your parents had been…what did you tell her? Murdered.”

  Violet didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

  “Your turn to play, Violet.” He waved his hand over the board, then hesitated as he was in the act of leaning back into the cushions. “I say, you’re not offended, are you?” He cleared his throat. “I understand it’s necessary for—”

  She cut him off. “For girls like me to play fast and loose with the truth? There, Lord Belvedere, I just all but decimated you. Careless. You lost three.”

  He didn’t look at the board. “Violet?” Then again, “Violet? Tell me what’s wrong. You were sad in the carriage, and I brought you here to jolly your spirits. I thought I was doing a mighty fine job until just now. I’m sorry if I offended you by making light of what you choose to tell my aunt to elicit her sympathy. Bravo to you, I say. Aunt Euphemia loves a good tragic story”

  “For God’s sake will you stop harping on my storytelling!” Violet threw up her hands. “How many times can a girl take being called a liar and still smile about it? My parents were murdered. Are you satisfied? Yes, I told your aunt, but I spared her the details, and if you value our friendship as you say you do, goodness knows but talk like this is a strange way to go about cultivating it.”

  The temper had crept up upon her before she’d even been aware of it lurking in the shadows. Violet hadn’t displayed temper since she’d been a child, so it took her by surprise. Unless this onslaught of emotion was something else altogether.

  Surely it must be.

  For why were the tears coursing down her cheeks as if she had no control of them?

  Which she didn’t.

  Angrily, she brushed them away as she bent over the board, trying to focus.

  But she couldn’t. And then Max was by her side, holding her in his arms as so many suppressed memories found their outlet in her sobs.

  She buried her face in his chest and breathed him in. Lemon verbena, sweat, horses. It was a good, honest smell that brought back the past even more strongly. “My dear girl, I had no idea. Truly, I am so sorry.”

  She could barely take in what he was saying. The sobbing wouldn’t stop but he let her cry in silence, holding her and stroking her hair.

  When finally she was exhausted from the emotion she leaned back, sighing deeply. “I should go.” She made a move to rise but he wouldn’t release her.

  “Not until you’ve told me.”

  She shrugged. “My parents are dead. So are yours. It’s all the same, in the end. The nature of their deaths is immaterial when you look at it like that. Grandmother ought to know,” she added in a whisper, bitterness flooding her at the memory.

  “My parents weren’t murdered.” He was serious now. “That’s not something most of us have to live with. How did they die, Violet? Don’t think I won’t believe you,” he added quickly.

  “Their throats were cut. We were in Cawnpore—”

  “Dear God!” The spasm of his shock reverberated through him as he held her. “I’m so sorry. And you really were living there? Forgive me, Violet. I thought”

  “That everything I said about my past was a lie?”

  “I supposed I was thrusting you into my lie. I just expected to get more of the same back.” He touched her cheek. “I haven’t really taken the trouble to listen to you properly. I’ve only…”

  After a moment he asked, “Tell me all you want to but nothing you don’t. I’ll not pry, but I do want to help.”

  She chewed on her lip, the comfort of his arms around her transporting her back years to when she’d felt cherished. Safe.

  “Please, Violet?”

  She shivered. Could she bear to? Should she rake up the past? She’d never put any of this into words.

  A tremor ran through her and his arms tightened around her. She rested her head on his chest and began to speak.

  “My family lived in Cawnpore. My parents. Me. My sister.” The thought of her sister made her smile. What he was asking her to remember didn’t. “My father had a lucrative trading business and we lived well. A beautiful house, servants. I wanted for nothing.”
She’d been a privileged child, waited upon hand and foot. There’d been beautiful clothes and the lively tea parties her mother had enjoyed hosting.

  It all seemed so long ago.

  Closing her eyes and saying the words as Max stroked her face, felt like a dream. Before she’d even conjured the images, she remembered the smell. The damp earth smell that drifted through the half open window. The smell of the oil lamp on her father’s desk.

  The rank smell of evil, unwashed bodies as men who had no right to be there stole into the house.

  “My parents had returned from dinner with the Governor. I heard them dismissing the servants, downstairs, after they returned. And then I must have fallen asleep for I was awoken by a strange commotion. A muffled cry, I realised afterwards when I hurried downstairs and discovered two bandits had entered the house. They were looking for valuables, I suppose, but my mother must have got in their way. My father, who’d been in his study, came into the drawing room at the same moment I did. When he saw they held a knife to Mother’s throat, he had nothing with which to defend her. Or my sister or me. I’ve never seen a man look so helpless. We were all helpless. But Mother was like a lioness. She had a temper.” Violet smiled. “You should have heard the insults she hurled. No, she didn’t whimper in fright. But then my sister appeared. She’d been woken, too. She was only six and she didn’t understand.” Violet shrugged. “When one of the bandits came towards Emily, it was too much. Emily began to scream and Mother began to claw at her captor’s eyes. That’s when he sliced her throat. In the fight that ensued, I don’t know what happened. It was all over so quickly. The bandits left. They took a few valuables. Only what they could snatch as they ran. And they left our parents dead at our feet.”

  Max’s breathing was soft against the crackle of the fire. A ghostly silence enveloped them as he held her close and stroked her cheek. “My poor Violet. What happened to you, then?”

  “As my mother’s parents had died some years before, we went to live with my father’s mother. She’d never approved of Mother, so her reception was not particularly rapturous.”