Her presence was more than all his senses could put together. It was something else, something more. A connection between them that made him stronger, more powerful, yet more at peace. A knowing that at the end of the day she would be there for him, a surety, a sanctuary, a safe harbour for his body and soul.
He’d never expected that marriage could become a haven. It had never appeared so to him. But their marriage of convenience had unexpectedly begun to provide an opportunity to explore what marriage might be. Partnership, as well as passion.
He unrolled the ball of paper, scanned it again. She’d been fair, more than fair. Generous, but that was Violet.
He was to keep her dowry, for Beauley to be saved. The paper crushed into his fist again as he swore. Didn’t she realise what an insult it was to him that she thought he would want her money, if he didn’t have her? Did she think him so dishonourable?
He would return her money as soon as he could and find another way to save Beauley.
Casting the letter aside, he glared around the room. The sight of a wardrobe door left ajar made him wince.
Gritting his teeth, he threw it open.
Empty. Except for a garment left behind that almost brought him to his knees.
A white-satin shimmer. Her wedding dress.
Pain slammed into his chest.
Then he saw it, on the floor by the bed.
Purple. Green. White.
He picked up the scrap of tricolour ribbon. It would be a mistake to try to hold her. That was no foundation for a marriage. No matter how much he loved her, he wouldn’t force her to stay. He’d cornered her, by changing the rules, by trying to control her.
All he could do now was to honour his side of the agreement, no matter how it tore him apart.
He’d promised Violet her freedom.
He had to let her go.
Chapter Seventeen
‘The slow sad hours that bring us all things ill...’
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: ‘Love and Duty’ (1842)
Violet awoke and stared at the violet-sprigged wallpaper and lacy curtains that she thought she’d never see again.
The last time she had awoken to the sight of her old childhood bedroom was months before. Before her marriage to Adam. Before she knew for certain what she had always feared.
Women could not have love and freedom.
Perhaps a man could. Perhaps a man could find in a woman’s arms comfort, not a cage. Not that she’d believed Adam would ever cage her.
She shivered.
That was why it had been so dreadful, so painful. Such a shock. She’d thought they’d set out the terms of their marriage of convenience as equals. But, no.
Women and men were not equals. Not yet. Until women had freedom, there could be no love. Not the kind of love Violet wanted in her life. Not the kind of love she thought she’d found with Adam.
She threw back the covers and paced the floor.
Would she ever get him out of her mind? Ever since she had arrived at her parents’ home she had been unable to get his name out of her head. It throbbed, like a headache.
Adam.
Adam.
Adam.
Seizing her dressing gown, she wrapped it around her and went to the window, pushing back the curtains.
After leaving Beauley, the entire journey back to the north of England had contained an air of unreality. A dreary rain had matched her mood. Pulling up outside her parents’ door in the carriage, she’d felt numb, only to find, inside, the news of her papa.
‘Violet! Oh, we’re so glad you’re here!’ her mama had cried when she appeared in the drawing room, where her papa was seated with a rug over his knees.
‘Papa!’ She had rushed to him. ‘You’re not well.’
‘It’s my heart,’ he’d admitted, struggling for breath as he tried to get up to greet her. ‘It’s been playing up.’
‘He’s not been well for some time,’ her mama had said, wringing her hands.
‘Why didn’t you write and tell me it was this bad?’ Violet had choked back a tear. Her father was normally up and about, not sitting on a chair by the window.
‘Didn’t want to worry a new bride. The doctors tell me I’ll be fine,’ he’d assured her. ‘It’s not being able to get to the factory that’s worrying me.’
‘You’re not to get upset, the doctors said so,’ Mrs Coombes put in.
‘Well, it’s lucky I’m home,’ said Violet.
‘Why have you come home, Violet?’
In an instant she’d made a decision. She wouldn’t tell them what had happened between her and Adam and that their marriage was at an end. It would only upset her papa further.
‘I missed you both. I wanted to see you.’ That much was true, at least.
‘It’s lucky I came back,’ she’d added. ‘I can run the business for you, Papa. Just watch.’
Work. Yes. That was the answer.
Violet checked her watch lying on the dressing table. It was only seven o’clock, but she would go straight to the factory. The workers were there at eight. She would be there, too.
Anything to get that name out of her head.
Adam.
Adam.
Adam.
* * *
‘I don’t believe it!’ Jane exclaimed. ‘Violet wouldn’t leave Beauley Manor! Not without saying goodbye!’
‘She’s gone.’ Adam couldn’t trust himself to say any more.
Jane appeared about to cry. ‘But we’re sisters now, that’s what she said. Sisters! What about the Cause? What about the rally? She was going to take me with her to a suffragette rally in London. What about the suffrage play? We had all kinds of things planned. It isn’t possible!’
‘It’s possible.’ Adam clipped the words. He found it hard to speak.
‘Where has she gone?’
‘Back to her parents, I believe. In Manchester.’ He guessed that much.
‘But wasn’t she happy here at Beauley?’ Jane asked, bewildered. ‘She seemed happy. Oh, I shall miss her so much.’ Adam bowed his head. He slammed his eyes shut as he struggled to gain control. His sister’s emotion would not trigger his own. He would not allow it.
‘Adam.’
He twisted his neck, expecting to see Jane. Instead he saw Arabella’s hand in its black-lace glove, on his shoulder.
‘I’ll miss Violet, too,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry she’s gone. She—made a difference here.’
Adam nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
So she’d even won Arabella’s heart.
She’d broken his.
* * *
‘Good morning, Miss Violet—ooh, I forgot. You’re a married lady now,’ one of the men who worked in the factory called out to her.
‘Violet is fine.’ Violet smiled. In truth, she preferred it. She didn’t want to think about being married. She must not.
Weeks had passed since she arrived in Manchester. The sounds of Adam’s name, echoing in her brain, had reduced from more than hourly to only a few times a day, if she didn’t allow herself to think about him. That wasn’t often. But being called Mrs Beaufort would only bring it all rushing back.
Work, she reminded herself, yet again. It would remove the pain, in time.
She liked to spend time on the factory floor. She’d always loved the factory, especially as a child.
Every step of the process of making chocolates had always fascinated her. Now she was seeking improvements in the procedure. Sometimes she took visitors on tours, to show them how their famed Floral Creams were made, from start to finish. The cocoa beans came from the Orient. They were ground into a buttery mass. At the factory, in huge vats, sugar and milk were added and cooked together to make a delicious-smelling warm liquid. When the liquid was evaporated, a crumbly chocolate mixture was
created, put through a mill, then mixed with liquid and butter to the correct consistency for Coombes Floral Creams.
In another part of the factory, essences were made from fruit and flower petals to make the flavouring syrups. They stood in glass bottles, glowing in jewel colours. The syrups were mixed with sugar and cream, then kneaded by hand into smooth fondant. The fondants were then dipped by hand into the chocolate by women Violet had known since she was a little girl. A crystallised petal, dusted in sugar, was always the final element. After scrubbing her hands, she’d often been allowed to place the petal on the top of the completed chocolate sweet.
The process looked easy, but Violet knew how many times her father had failed at creating the taste that made their chocolate fondants so popular. He’d never given up.
That was the Coombes way, Violet reminded herself.
She stood and watched the swirling chocolate being stirred. The scent of cocoa and warm sugar rose in her nostrils. She put her hand over her mouth.
A young woman from the chocolate finishing area rushed over. ‘Are you all right?’
Violet straightened and smiled delightedly. She threw her arms around her. It was Hannah Walsh, whom Violet had known all her life. They’d played together as children. Now Hannah was the mother of two children herself. ‘I’m quite all right. Oh, how are you, Hannah? It’s so good to see you. Are your family well?’
‘Very well.’ Hannah beamed. Her eyes were bright in her freckled face. ‘I’m expecting my third.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Violet. ‘That’s wonderful news.’
Hannah hesitated. ‘There’s something we’ve all been wondering. If it’s true, I mean. You’re a suffragette now, aren’t you?’
Violet lifted her chin. ‘Yes, I am.’
Always. No matter what it cost her.
‘Some of us here at the factory want to start a women’s group,’ Hannah said. ‘Many of us want the vote.’
Violet nodded. ‘It’s a matter for all women.’
‘Will you help us?’ Hannah asked.
‘Of course.’ Violet reached out and squeezed Hannah’s hands. ‘I also plan to hold a meeting for women workers here in the factory. I want to know your concerns and how your working conditions can be improved. I’d be proud to help.’
‘You would?’ Hannah sounded amazed.
‘I would.’ Violet had been thinking, during her long sleepless nights, about how she could bring some of the ideas from the Cadbury factory to Coombes. She hadn’t yet been to the Bournville village, the factory in a garden the Cadbury family had created for their workers. It made her think too much of Adam. He’d said they would go there together. That wouldn’t happen now. But it was no reason for her not to put some of her social reform ideas into practice at Coombes. All the workers would benefit.
‘I want to establish two social reform committees,’ Violet explained to Hannah. ‘One for men and one for women. It will need support from the women in the factory to make it work. Will you help me, too?’
Hannah nodded firmly. ‘We’ll work together.’
According to her reading about Cadbury’s, and other books of business, late into the night, such reform committees could improve morale and help achieve success, as well as bringing the concerns of women workers to the fore.
As she walked away from the chocolate vats towards the factory office in the corner of the building, another wave of nausea came over her.
She leant against the office door, shivering. She was never ill.
Was it because she missed Adam? Sick with longing. Sick with love. Surely that could not be the reason?
Adam.
She’d had no response from the letter she left for him. Perhaps he was relieved she had gone, she thought bitterly. How had she been so wrong, so mistaken at what she’d taken for signs of true affection between them? She’d thought that the touch of his lips, his hands, had meant so much more than it did. She’d thought it was real. True.
True love.
‘What a fool you are,’ she said aloud.
‘Did you say something, Violet?’ Her mother popped her head around the door of the factory office. She had taken to coming to help in the mornings.
‘No, Mama,’ Violet said. ‘Nothing at all.’
* * *
Adam skimmed stones across the river.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. A stone for each of the weeks Violet had been gone.
He hadn’t thought it possible for the manor to feel so empty.
Earlier that day, before he’d come out for a walk to try, without success, to clear his head, he’d worked at his plans for Beauley. He’d heard from a notable engineer. Adam’s plans were good plans. Great plans. Plans that could ensure the manor’s survival for many more generations. It was possible to save the manor from its marshy fate, from sinking into oblivion. Beauley had stronger foundations than they first thought.
Beauley would survive. The manor could be saved.
Adam picked up another stone, forced himself not to imagine Violet on the edge of the riverbed, peeling off her stockings to reveal those stupendous legs, and the laughter, the kiss it had led to and more.
Through sheer force of will, he could manage to divert his mind by day. It was at night, while he slept, that his mind played havoc with his memory, turning the recollection of the night they’d spent together into dreams.
He lobbed another stone, watched it splash and ripple.
Those dreams. They were enough to drive a man into the river to cool off.
He turned back to the Manor. He would go over the plans again. He was determined to save Beauley without having to use any of Violet’s settlement.
‘We’ll build new foundations.’ Her voice echoed in his head.
‘Adam!’
He looked up to see his sister racing towards him.
‘Adam! You must come. Quickly!’
* * *
Too many chocolates.
In front of the full-length mirror, Violet patted her stomach. She twisted to look at her waistline from another angle.
Yes, it was definite. Her waist had thickened.
Too many chocolates, she told herself again. That’s all it was. She managed a chocolate factory, after all. She had done so for over two months now.
But she hadn’t been able to face chocolate all that time, her brain uncomfortably reminded her. And with the illness she continued to experience in the mornings—
There was no denying it.
Trembling, she sat on the edge of the bed. A strange, cold perspiration filmed her skin.
Pregnant.
That was the word she had been trying to stop entering her mind. She certainly couldn’t say it aloud.
It made sense. She’d missed her courses, twice now. The first time, she’d assumed it was the upset of leaving Adam, followed by the shock of finding her father ill.
She counted back dates. It was possible. More than that. It was probable. All the signs pointed to it.
‘Pregnant.’
This time she spoke aloud.
Now she understood the illness she’d experienced, watching the swirling chocolate being made. That was when it had started. She’d experienced dizziness, too, and other odd symptoms.
Her brain wouldn’t take in the information properly. She’d told Adam that she’d wanted to wait to have a family in order to give her all to the Cause. Yet now, after their first time making love, she was carrying his child.
Surely it was impossible. Yet a flutter in her stomach, a flutter as light as a butterfly wing, a flutter of excitement as well as trepidation, told her that something had changed inside her, physically.
But emotionally...
Her stomach began to churn, swirling like the chocolate in the vat. It was such a shock. She couldn’t think straight.
Yet she knew, immediately, no matter what the future held, that no child that came from the love she had shared with Adam could be regretted.
Yet how would she cope? She bit her lip. She was a woman alone now.
* * *
After dressing in a skirt and blouse, leaving her corset looser than usual, she had made her way in a kind of daze over to the factory office. She hung her coat on a brass hook. The weather had changed to rain and cold.
She put her hand on her stomach and removed it hastily as her mother bustled in.
They got to work. It was a relief from the other concerns whirring in her mind. She was struggling to comprehend it.
* * *
‘You have a head for figures, Mama,’ Violet said later, after they’d been working on the accounts for a few hours.
‘I used to help your papa right at the beginning,’ Mrs Coombes confessed. ‘It was so enjoyable for me. Then your papa hired people to do the work and he wanted me to spend time being a lady.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘We were happier somehow, even though we had so much less money, when we were first married,’ her mama said wistfully.
‘You can be happy in that way again, Mama,’ Violet said. ‘Don’t stop coming here to the factory when Papa is better. You can keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t overdo it. And he loves your company.’
Mrs Coombes’s eyes widened. ‘Do you think I ought?’
‘Papa would adore it. I’m sure.’
‘That would be so nice. I’ve been lonely in the house without you, Violet. There’s only so much embroidery one can do.’
The Scandalous Suffragette Page 21
