Violet did smile when she thought of her mother’s reaction when she had read Thomas’ first surprising letter, telling them he was leaving the Navy. Her mother, of course, had been overwhelmed by the news and had collapsed into a chair, murmuring weakly about smelling salts. Violet had obliged, knowing full well that this was something of a charade, although she would admit that the contents of Thomas' letter were certainly unexpected.
While Thomas had always longed for adventure, he also equally had always been a man filled with a sense of duty, and she had thought that duty lay firmly with the Royal Navy. It was also an escape for him, she was quite sure, for she had seen the way her mother would always attempt to press suitable young ladies onto Thomas, in the hope of finding him an acceptable bride. Thomas had wanted none of it and had used the sea as a reason to remain quite unattached.
After meeting Thomas’ wife, Violet wondered how much she had affected Thomas' wishes and desires. Eleanor said all the right words and acted quite properly, but there was something in her expression and the glint of her eye that told a different story. No matter, they seemed quite happy together and well suited, and Violet was very pleased for her brother. Together he and his wife were now living off of Thomas’ work as a privateer, instead of following the dictates and rules of both his title and high society.
While their mother, Marie, had been slightly mollified for a time that now at least one of her children had finally married, Thomas and his new bride had barely been out the door following their short stay before Marie was once again overcome by the scandal he had caused their family. After all, she had another four children who still had yet to be wed themselves.
“Whatever are we do to?” she said dramatically.
Sighing to herself, Violet turned around to face her mother. She was growing more than a little weary of hearing the same complaints about her brother, considering that he had chosen a very wise path. Life was too short to be stuck within society’s structures.
“Mama, that is enough,” she said firmly.
Her mother, apparently stunned by Violet’s tenacity, stopped short of the dramatics she was acting out in the middle of the drawing room of their London home, and stared at her daughter, her mouth hanging slightly ajar.
“You have talked incessantly about Thomas,” Violet continued, firmly, standing from the sofa where she had tried to remain focused on her book, unsuccessful in ignoring her mother’s charades. “And that is all I can take. I have heard you complain about what he has done, but I for one think it a very good thing.”
“A good thing?” her mother spluttered, sounding both horrified and disgusted. “He left the Navy, Violet! And now he is captaining some pirate ship around the ocean, living in squalor in the wild!”
“He is not a pirate. He is a privateer and lives in Port Royal, an established city,” Violet replied, calmly. “His chosen profession, whatever it is, does not detract from my delight in hearing that he has chosen his own path in this life.” She lifted her shoulders. “If he wants adventure, then why not seek it out?”
"Because he has duties!" her mother retorted, as two faint spots of color appeared in her cheeks. "He is the second son and – "
Violet held up one hand and cut her mother off. “He is the second son, Mama. Your oldest son is more than fulfilling his duties.”
“Daniel is not fulfilling his duties! He is not married and therefore not currently producing any heirs. One can never be too careful! And —”
With a great effort, Violet managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Mama, Thomas is doing what he wishes to do with his own life. You already have your eldest son doing exactly what he ought, besides finding a wife I will grant you — but is that not enough for you? Daniel will marry eventually. Allow Thomas to do what he thinks is best and be glad that he has not turned into some kind of degenerate gambler or the like, as so many second sons have a habit of doing!”
That took the fight from her mother, for Violet knew that her words held a great amount of truth. A duke was the highest rank of the peerage, and second sons – and even third sons should there be any – often spent their lives in nothing more than a slow descent of increasing debauchery, having no other purpose than to spend their wealth. It was a relief to her that Thomas had not been so inclined, although her mother still failed to see the blessing that was. In fact, Marie should likely be more worried about Benjamin, but she was still too focused on her elder children.
“Now,” Violet continued matter of factly. “Why do you not call upon your friend, Lady Mallen? There are more than a few hours remaining of the day and I am quite sure she will be more than happy to listen to your woes.” She held her breath as her mother considered this, a slight frown on her face.
“I could, I suppose,” the Duchess said, eventually, her voice softer than before. “You simply cannot understand what a trial this is for me, Violet. It may be that Lady Mallen might console me, given that she is a mother also.”
Violet lifted her chin but did not say a single word, knowing from her mother’s veiled words that Violet herself was something of a disappointment to her mother. Despite being the daughter of a duke and having a good many proposals, Violet had never allowed herself to accept a single one – much to her mother’s dismay. It was an ongoing battle between the two ladies, although Violet had now silently promised herself not to continue in any kind of discourse with her mother about her matrimonial state. Her mother simply did not understand.
Her father, the Duke of Ware, didn’t seem much concerned about his daughter’s reluctance to marry. Lionel Harrington was a brooding man of few words, and was likely just as pleased he hadn’t had to pay a dowry for his eldest daughter. Violet also knew he silently rejoiced in the fact that she was still at home, keeping more of Marie’s attention directed at someone other than himself.
It was with relief that Violet watched her mother leave the room in a flurry of skirts, apparently still needled by Violet’s refusal to listen to her frustrations with Thomas any longer. Sighing heavily, Violet rang the bell for tea, before settling herself back in the seat by the fire. The drawing room was a little chilly this afternoon, for the October sunshine did not bring much warmth with it, no matter how hard it shone through the near floor-to-ceiling south-facing windows.
Picking up her book from where she had left it before her mother had interrupted her, Violet tried hard to focus on what she had been reading but found that she could not concentrate. The arrival of the tea tray forced her to put her book down regardless, and she was left to sit alone, watching the flames of the fire as they crackled and burned.
It was not that Violet found it difficult to be alone, given that she spent much of her time in her own company. It was not something her mother understood, of course, for she much preferred socializing over all else. It was just another way that they were different.
Violet sighed to herself, wishing that her mother was a little more understanding. Whilst she had been a devoted mother in many senses, it had been mostly to prepare Violet for matrimony. However, when Violet had refused proposals and finally declared herself unwilling to marry except for love – or at least affection – her mother had taken to her bed for a sennight. It had been an act, of course, in an attempt to manipulate Violet into doing what her mother asked and accepting one of the gentlemen who had sought her hand, but Violet had remained resolute. It had now reached a stalemate, where neither mother nor daughter brought up Violet’s unmarried state, although Violet was fully aware of her mother’s ongoing disapproval.
It was not that Violet did not wish to marry or to have children of her own one day, but rather that she refused to wed someone she barely knew. Affection often led to love, she had been told, and having witnessed her own parents' marriage, Violet had vowed to herself that she would never wed someone whom she found barely tolerable. Her parents, in the end, had grown fond of each other, but that was not what Violet wanted and she would not settle for less. She had always re
membered her aunt Bess’ words to her, and she vowed to remain true to her resolve.
Unfortunately, no gentleman seemed interested in Violet anymore. Of course, that was to be expected, given that she had refused so many of them but, on top of that, most gentlemen did not want a lady who sought to read and expand her mind as much as she could – and Violet was exactly that kind of lady. She had been ‘on the shelf' for some time, although she felt quite young in herself, and still, the faint hope of love and matrimony refused to leave her heart.
“Who knows?” she murmured, still gazing into the fire. “Perhaps I shall meet someone at the ball this evening.” A slightly sad smile curved her lips. “Although I expect not.”
2
Violet sat quietly in the corner of the room, watching the whirl of skirts as they passed her by. She had, of course, been asked for a few dances, but her dance card was by no means full. Being the daughter of a duke meant that she would never truly become a wallflower, for there would always be gentlemen who would seek a dance with her, but that gave her very little comfort.
They took her onto the floor for their own gains, to show the Duchess that they were still interested in her family, even if Violet did not reciprocate their attentions. Violet knew she would have to spend an hour or so listening to her mother recount every gentleman Violet had stepped out with, Marie providing her with a list of their accomplishments and qualities. It would not do for Violet, of course, who had never believed that one dance with a gentleman meant that they would somehow make a suitable husband.
The ballroom was resplendent. Her eyes caught her younger sister being whirled around the floor, looking as though she was having the time of her life. If only she could be as free!
Her sister Polly’s fair blonde curls were intricately pinned to her head, her smile bright as she threw her head back in laughter. Violet smiled at her sister but self-consciously raised a hand to her dark chestnut locks, simply pulled back into a loose chignon. She did love the dress she was wearing that evening. The lilac of her satin slip peeked through the white lace gown, and around her neck she wore a sapphire jewel Thomas had brought her as a gift from the Caribbean.
Growing somewhat tired of her own thoughts and melancholy mood, Violet rose quietly and made her way, as unobtrusively as possible, along the side of the ballroom until she reached the French doors. They were wide open, thankfully, and the cool night air reached in to welcome her, wrapping itself around her shoulders and drawing her further outdoors.
There were bound to be couples walking along the paths, and Violet absolutely did not want to stumble onto an improper embrace, so she decided, therefore, to wander into the lush sprawl of greenery extending from the balcony. Her slippers made no sound on the soft grass, as she walked further into the lamplit gardens, finding them quite beautiful in the dim light. Rolling green lawns were framed by hedgerows, while the lamplight shone on bridges, statues, and flowerbeds. Alone once more, she thought to herself, a little ruefully. You should be used to this by now. In some ways, she envied Thomas, able to free himself from the shackles of societal expectation and pursue his own path. If only she could do the same! Her life lacked adventure and excitement, turning into a regular, staid routine that consisted of staying out of her mother’s way and losing herself in books. Books that told her of life that was meant to be explored, of so much more waiting for her, should she only be willing to go in search of it.
The difficulty was that, no matter how much she was willing to seek a different life, she simply could not. Thomas was able to do what he pleased because he was a gentleman, and gentlemen held all the power. In addition, he had funds of his own and could spend them as he pleased. Of course, Violet had some wealth also, but it had to be carefully controlled, just in case she was never to marry. She could not simply spend what she wished on whatever she desired, for then she would be a pauper in her elder years, should she live that long. Of course, she could throw herself on the mercy of one of her siblings, should that happen, but the thought was not something Violet could stomach. That was completely unfair and she would not allow herself to become a burden. That meant that, for the time being, she was stranded in this life, stuck between an interfering, determined mother and her dreams of an exciting and fulfilling life.
Sitting down heavily on a stone bench, Violet looked up to the night skies, letting her eyes wander over the heavens. When she saw how wide and dark the sky was, she thought how small she was in comparison, and felt more than inconsequential. Perhaps she should simply give in and live the way her mother wanted, accepting whichever of the gentlemen seemed the least difficult. It would be a sad state of affairs to give in now, however, when all was not completely lost. Yes, she would soon be classed as a spinster, but was holding out for love too much to ask? Bess would be disappointed should she marry for anything else now, but one must also do what she could with whatever opportunities presented themselves.
A murmur of voices had her tensing at once, dropping her head to gaze around the gardens. Was she about to find herself in the way of an embracing couple? No matter how improper the liaison was, Violet did not want to find herself viewing such a thing. It would be quite mortifying for all parties involved.
Glancing around her, and grateful for the lanterns that lit the paths, she looked for a place to sit alone, and as she hurried down the path to find such a place, she was relieved when she stumbled upon a small gazebo. It was recessed in the corner of the gardens, enclosed by trees and shrubs with vines trailing over the latticework of the wooden walls, sheltering a small bench. It was exceedingly dark, well hidden, and as she circled it, Violet found her heart hammering in her chest. Was she about to meet some terrifying ghost within? Would there be some poor kidnapped girl held inside, and it would be up to Violet to free her from her captors?
Laughing to herself at her vivid imagination, Violet walked inside and stopped dead, waiting until her eyes adjusted to the gloom before finding a place to sit down. Unfortunately for her, there were neither ghosts nor a kidnapped girl, meaning that her life was bound on the same dull trajectory it had always been.
Your imagination is much too wild, she told herself, sternly. Get a hold of yourself, Violet.
Shaking her head slightly, Violet sat down on the small wooden bench and hoped that there were not too many spiders about. Her mother would be almost apoplectic with rage should Violet return to the ball with cobwebs adorning her hair and gown! Keeping as quiet and as still as possible, Violet could do nothing more than hope that the couple walking in front of the gazebo would soon return to the ballroom so that she might escape from her confines.
A slight frown appeared as she realized that the voices she heard were not that of a gentleman and a lady, but that of two men. Perhaps they had some secret business to discuss, which meant that Violet should absolutely not be listening. However, it was not as though she could press her hands to her ears, for the rustling of her skirts as she lifted her arms could easily attract their attention. And, were she truly honest with herself, she was slightly curious. They were just outside the gazebo’s open window, forcing Violet to press herself into the shadows and pray that they would not see her.
“This cannot go on,” she heard the first man say, his voice harsh and loud. “We have been waiting for too long.”
“Please, I beg you,” came the second man’s response. “I just need a little more time. A day or two at most!”
A guttural laugh came from the first man, as a rattling fear ran down Violet’s spine. This did not sound like a pleasant conversation, for the second man sounded quite terrified.
“It has been quite difficult, you must understand,” the second man continued, sounding as though he were begging the first for some sympathy. “I have my family and my own reputation to think of!”
The first man sneered. “You have no reputation to speak of any longer, believe you me. The moment you decided to become involved was the moment your reputation was torn to shreds.”
He is trying to show courage, Violet realized, her heart going out to the second man, whoever he was. What bravery in the face of such cruelty!
Her eyes turned to the open window, trying to make out the figures outside. From the little she could see, she could determine there were two men standing opposite one another, although one was at least half a head taller than the other. He appeared to tower over the second, the moonlight shining down on his slightly balding head. The second man stood as tall as he could, and Violet felt her heart go out to him as the men continued arguing. He was trying so hard to state his case, to prove to the first that he was not about to back down and give in to his harsh demands.
“I think I have grown tired of waiting,” she heard the first man say and, to her horror, she saw a small pistol being pulled from the man’s pocket, glinting in the moonlight.
“No!” exclaimed the second man, backing away slowly. “You cannot mean this, Roberts! You need me.”
The first man snorted, as though the second man was speaking utter nonsense. “No, Sir Whitby. You are dispensable. We have others that can take your place, others who can do the job better and faster than you have done.”
“Please,” the second man begged, as the first man took some steps forward. “My family, my wife –”
“Will be left to deal with the consequences of your failure,” the first man said, calmly, before firing a single shot.
Violet gasped, pressing both of her hands to her mouth to cover her silent scream. She knew she could not make a sound for fear that she would join Sir Whitby, yet everything in her was screaming at her to run. Her entire body began to tremble as the first man let out a low whistle and, soon, three other men walked past the gazebo window. Violet pressed her back against the wall of her shelter in desperation to hide herself completely, praying that no one would see her. She had to remain perfectly still, although she forced her eyes to remain open so that she would not miss what was going on outside. Not that she knew to whom she would speak of what she had seen – the constable, perhaps?
Searching Hearts Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 14
