by Jenna Jaxon
“When will Papa come back?” Anna asked as she crawled onto her small bed, festooned with frothy pink and white drapery.
“I’m sure it will be soon, my dear.” Violet kept her tone soft as she pulled the embroidered coverlet up over the child. “We shall have to think of something very special to serve him when next he comes. Do you know what he particularly likes for tea?”
“Treacle tart.” A huge yawn interrupted Anna’s words.
“Your favorite is treacle tart, I believe,” Violet said with a smile.
Anna smiled back, her heavy eyelids drooping.
“I’ll find out from cook what he likes and make sure we have it the next time he comes to tea with us.”
The girl nodded, winking now in an effort to stay awake. “Miss Carlton.” She reached for Violet’s hand, clasping her thin fingers around it. “Stay here.”
“I will, lovey. Go to sleep. I’m right here.” Gently, Violet squeezed the small hand.
Anna squeezed back, then her hand fell limply onto the coverlet.
Violet smoothed the tiny brow as the child’s breathing became slow and regular. “Poor darling.”
She’d been told Anna’s mother had been ill for months. The little girl had been kept away from her for fear she would catch the mysterious illness that had kept Judith Harper unable to leave her bed. No wonder poor Anna clung to her father so.
Violet waited until she was deeply asleep, then rose and headed for the nursery. She’d found naptime the perfect opportunity to read. Lady Downing allowed her to take books from the library and she’d found a lovely volume by Samuel Richardson called Pamela. The antics of the maid as she fended off her employer had proven most entertaining during the past week. A chapter or two a day and the story was flying by. She wished she could still practice her music, but beggars could not be choosers. With a little hum of satisfaction, she picked up her shawl and the volume and headed for the nursery.
“Miss Carlton.”
Violet stopped, shocked to see Miss Harper still seated on the sofa sipping tea. “Miss Harper. I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize you were still here.” Why on earth was she still here? “Shall I call for more tea?”
“No, thank you.” The younger woman stared into the fireplace, as if avoiding Violet.
A cold dread crept up Violet’s spine. Miss Harper had stayed to have her say—to finally confront her about Tristan. Heart hammering, she returned to the chair in which she’d sat during the tea party. She straightened her skirts and squared her shoulders. There was no defense for her actions, but she couldn’t be ashamed of her love for Tris either. She raised her chin and gazed at Miss Harper, relieved to have the matter brought out in the open at last.
“I’d hoped to speak to you earlier, Miss Carlton, but the time has never seemed quite right since you arrived.” Miss Harper fingered the edge of her black and green figured gown.
“Yes?” Violet steeled herself for the accusation.
“You and Lord Trevor have been friends for some time he has told me. You are, in fact, related?” The blue eyes across from her were neither hard nor narrowed. Rather than acting the wronged woman, Miss Harper seemed almost shy.
“The connection is remote,” Violet answered carefully. “But we have been acquainted for some time.” Certainly, God would forgive the lie. The lesser of her sins to be sure.
“He spoke very highly of you to my father. Praised your character and skills with children. From what I’ve seen of you and Anna I can tell he has spoken nothing but truth.” The girl smiled and leaned forward.
“Thank you, Miss Harper.” For some reason, she didn’t sound angry at all. More confused than ever, Violet clasped her hands together to keep them from quivering.
“So I was wondering if you might help me.” Suddenly fidgety, Miss Harper tucked her head until her chin almost rested on her chest and squeezed her hands together tightly.
“Help you?” What help could this young woman possibly need from her?
“Yes, you see…” The girl twisted restlessly in her seat, looking ready to bolt from the room. “I suppose you know I am to marry Lord Trevor this spring?”
“Yes.” The word came out clipped as a wave of pain crashed over Violet, closing her throat. The innocuous question cut like a knife in her chest.
“I have only met Lord Trevor a few times.” Chaotic color spread from Miss Harper’s neck upward to her forehead, turning her face the hue of a summer rose. “He seems very kind, but aloof. So I was wondering…” She clutched her skirts as though they were a lifeline. “I wondered if you could tell me something of him, of his character, his background. I want…” Another longer pause. “I want him to like me.” The hollows around her eyes seemed to deepen and a trick of the light cast her face in dark shadow. “If I knew more about him, perhaps, his likes and dislikes, I could please him better after we are wed.”
Violet stared at Miss Harper, the room wavering until she could see nothing but the woman’s pinched face. A roaring in her ears, a lightness in her head told her she was about to swoon and she fought to take deep breaths, remain conscious even as her heart ripped in two. If she could crawl off somewhere and die she’d consider it a blessing. Anything rather than this wrenching pain that wracked her body and soul. Still she stared at the pink-tinged face, unable to move or speak.
“I would not presume to ask so personal a favor, Miss Carlton, on such slight acquaintance, but I have no one else to turn to.” Miss Harper sighed, smoothing out her skirts where her fingers had crushed the pretty fabric. “As I said, Lord Trevor has been very kind, but is often very remote.” She gave a high, nervous little laugh. “I’m not sure, but I suspect all men may be so. My father and brother certainly are, although they have never truly liked me.” Her head came up and she met Violet’s gaze beseechingly. “I didn’t want Lord Trevor to be like them.”
Violet stared back at Miss Harper, properly chastened. She’d known the love and respect of her brother, father, mother, grandmother. The remembrance of that love would always be with her, no matter her circumstances. She couldn’t fathom what it would be like not to have a brother to tease her, to play games with, to dry her tears. Jamie had done all that and more. Her father had doted on them both while he lived. Only happy memories of her childhood remained.
Miss Harper appeared to be a kind person who seemed genuinely fond of Anna and her sister-in-law. Why would her father and brother treat her so callously?
“Please don’t think me impertinent, Miss Carlton.” Abruptly, Miss Harper rose, wringing her hands. “I know we are barely acquainted and I would not ask such a favor except…” Her mouth trembled and tears glistened in her eyes. “Marriage is forever. I had hoped it might be a happy one, if I knew how to please my husband.”
Again the sinking feeling hit Violet, like an iron chain tied around her heart dragging her down into the depths of the earth. What the girl asked was impossible. How could she even speak about Tris without dissolving into tears? Misery wrapped its cold arms around her.
Miss Harper turned to go.
What would Tris want her to do? By his own admission, he felt nothing for Miss Harper, yet he was prepared to go ahead with the marriage to avoid hurting her. He would not break his vow, would not repeat his father’s mistake and take Violet as his mistress. If one of them had any chance at happiness, for love of him should she not abet it?
“Miss Harper.”
The girl stopped at the threshold and peered warily over her shoulder.
“I believe I can help you.” Violet gritted her teeth but managed a smile and indicated the chair opposite her. “Won’t you please take a seat?”
The young woman’s face lit up, her eyes wide and eager. She flashed a trembling smile at Violet and hurried back to the fire. “Oh, thank you, Miss Carlton.”
Violet waved her hand toward the teapot. “Shall I send for more tea?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
Violet stepped to the door and hailed a footman. “Please fetch more tea for Miss Harper.”
The man nodded and left.
Gathering her courage, Violet reseated herself and looked straight at Miss Harper. She could do this for Tris. “What can I tell you about Lord Trevor?”
“Oh, please call me Dora,” the girl replied, leaning forward to grasp Violet’s hands with fingers like ice.
“Thank you, Dora. And you must call me Violet.” Perhaps it would be easier if they were less formal.
“Such a pretty name.”
Breathing deeply, she forced a smile. She could do this. “What would you like to know?”
“Oh, I have no idea, really.” Dora gave a shrill little laugh. “Everything you can think of. How does he take his tea? What foods does he like? Does he prefer town life or country?” She ran on excitedly, her face animated for the first time in Violet’s memory. “There are a thousand things I want to know. He dances so well. What music does he like?”
Violet closed her eyes and the music room at Lammas House appeared, bathed in candlelight. “The harp, I would say, is his favorite instrument. Do you play?” With a shake of her head she opened her eyes. It wouldn’t do to be carried away by her memories.
“Only the pianoforte. Does he like that as well?” Dora asked eagerly.
“He does. I have played both instruments for him and he seems to enjoy both.” Violet fought the memory of Christmas Day, even as the remembered smell of beeswax candles filled her head.
“But he prefers the harp?” Dora cocked her head, her face falling. “I can see it in your eyes. I do wish I could play, but we only have the one instrument. Mama thought it the best one for ladies to learn. I see she was wrong in my case.”
So tempting to just sympathize and continue the conversation. But that would not further the plan for Tristan’s happiness. “If your parents approve, I will send for my harp. I could teach you and later Anna.” The tight band that encircled her chest eased a trifle.
“You would do that for me?” The astonishment on Dora’s face, the unshed tears, spoke candidly of the kindnesses she’d been denied.
“I would indeed.” Violet swallowed hard and smiled at her new friend. “Everyone deserves happiness.”
Chapter 25
“Relax your hand. Let the fingers fold themselves naturally against the palm, Dora.” Holding up her right hand, Violet demonstrated how the fingers curled inward. “You don’t want them stiff and pointed like a lion’s claw.”
“Ugh. Why can I not do this simplest of things?” Dora clenched her fist, then threw her hands in the air, fingers pointed outward. “Roar.”
Violet couldn’t help but laugh. Dora’s lessons had only begun two days before, but the girl seemed to think she must play perfectly from the beginning. An excellent trait, perfection, but better if a bit more forgiving. “You are a credible lion, but I think you’ll be a better harpist before long.”
“I shall never play as well as you.” Fretfully, Dora pushed the instrument upright then slumped against the chair.
“You will if I have anything to do with it.” Violet ran her hand softly down the strings, making them whisper a discordant tune. “You are at the beginning of your studies. With time and practice you will play beautifully.”
“But I have little time, Violet.” Dora sat up, rubbing her arms as if suddenly chilled. “The wedding will be in two short months. Then I will be gone. No more lessons.” She sighed, almost a sob.
“Of course you will have more lessons. Once you are…married, I am sure Lord Trevor will insist you keep up your studies.” Almost no hesitation now when speaking of Dora’s marriage. The pain had dulled recently, as a wound does after the initial shock to the severed flesh gives way to a muted ache. Coming to know Dora had been a two-edged sword. The constant reminder of Tris’s impending marriage was pure agony, but as she came to know Dora’s sweet nature, she took perverse comfort in thinking she would hand Tris a wife he could come to love and be happy with in time. If she could not have him herself, then who better than Dora?
“Come, let me show you how to perform a glissando.” Violet sat in the chair next to her pupil and pulled the harp over onto her shoulder.
“What is that?”
“A glorious sounding movement that is actually very simple.” Strumming again, this time she played down the strings using her left thumb. “You go upward with your right hand and downward with your left. Watch.” She repeated the sweeping movements twice, watching Dora’s rapt face turn into concentration as her brows dipped almost to her nose. “Here. Now you try.”
“But I—”
Violet didn’t bother arguing. Instead, she shoved the pillar of the harp over to Dora’s shoulder. “Now curve your hand as I showed you.”
Dora obediently curled her fingers inward.
“Good. Now place your forefinger bent on the lower ‘C’ string. Keep your thumb up.”
Biting her lip in concentration, the girl followed the instructions step-by-step.
“Pull that finger back against every string.”
Gingerly, Dora placed her finger on the center of the string and pulled back as instructed, one string at a time. Her pace was too slow and she wobbled once, but completed the movement at last.
“Excellent, Dora.”
“I did it!” A wide grin broke out across her face.
“And well.” Her pleasure in her achievement made Violet’s heart ache. The poor thing seemed to have had little praise in her life. “Now let’s do it again, a little faster this time. Imagine you are pulling a bow back as if you were playing at archery.”
“Oh, yes. I see.” Brows furrowed as she concentrated, Dora set her finger on the middle “C” string once more and pulled back smoothly and rapidly. The notes rang out loud and sweet in the small parlor they were using as a music room.
“Excellent. Now strum down with the other hand.”
Dora shot her a wild look but took a deep breath and did as she was told. The resulting notes were soft but sweet.
“Curve your thumb a bit to cup the sound and make it louder. First, up with the right hand.”
The harp sang the scale beautifully.
“And down with the left.”
The descending notes rang louder.
“Continue up and back.”
The joy of accomplishment in Dora’s face made Violet’s heart swell. Her pupil was a delight to teach.
Dora continued for several more sweeps of the strings, each pass stronger, more sure.
“It’s like I’m actually playing, Violet.” Her smile stretched across her entire face.
“You are indeed playing, my dear.” Tris’s voice cut through the glorious notes.
The sound stopped Violet’s breath dead.
Dora gasped and jumped up.
The harp crashed to the floor, rocking on its base until Violet grabbed it to prevent it toppling over.
“My lord, I…I.” Dora’s cheeks bloomed a bright pink.
“Good morning, Lord Trevor.” Violet had caught her breath and forced her head to clear, for the sight of him after so much time made her giddy. Dressed in a bronze brocade coat, brown breeches, and a deep maroon checked waistcoat all trimmed in gold braid, he cut a magnificent figure in the doorway.
“Good morning, Miss Carlton. I thought you had been engaged to teach Lord Downing’s granddaughter, not his daughter.” Mischievously, he looked from her to Dora, who had now turned white as the sheets of music scattered on the floor.
“I am a woman of many talents, my lord.” She bent, intent on retrieving the papers.
“I am fully aware of that, Miss Carlton.”
His arch tone made her jerk her head up. The hot gaze he turned on her made her bones turn to water.
He stooped and snared the last page. When he rose, they stood face to face. He handed her the music, brushing his finger along hers.
A bolt of hea
t shot straight to her core, like an arrow to its mark. “Thank you, my lord.” In need of support, she stepped back and laid her hand on Dora’s shoulder. The chill of the girl’s skin, even through her gown, jerked Violet out of her trance. “Are you all right, Dora? You’re cold as ice.”
“Yes, I am fine,” she whispered. “I was just startled by your appearance, Lord Trevor.”
“We had hoped to surprise you, my lord,” Violet continued, still unsure if Dora was about to faint or not. “I am teaching your future bride to play the harp.”
“You are? That is indeed a surprise. And very thoughtful of you.” He turned a softened gaze on Dora. “The harp is my favorite instrument.”
“I know.” Dora glanced from Violet to Tris. “Violet told me.”
“Then I am most pleased and flattered you have undertaken the instrument, my dear. I will look forward eagerly to hearing you play again.” His gaze lingered on her pale face, a wistfulness appearing in his eyes. “I am therefore most sorry I must interrupt your lesson, but I am sent to fetch you. Your mother awaits you in her sitting room. Your aunt, the Duchess of Ostroda, has arrived.”
“Aunt Mimi is here? All the way from Prussia? That is a surprise.” Some of the color had returned to Dora’s face. She stood lost in thought, then dipped a curtsey. “If you will excuse me, my lord. I must go greet her.”
“Of course. I shall see you at dinner.” Tris grasped her hand, lifted and kissed it. “Until then.”
With one last piercing look at Tris, she left, the tap tap of her shoes in the corridor escalating as they faded.
Tris swung around to face Violet, the love shining in his face heartbreaking.
Unable to bear it, she clutched the sheets of music and fled to the small wooden cabinet where they were stored. She took her time, rearranging the pages until all were facing up. The movements were mechanical; she listened with all her might to him—the rustle of his coat against his body, the soft puff of his breath in the still air behind her. She bent and thrust the sheets inside, all the while seeing his face before her.
