CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Viola looked around the bedroom she hadn’t seen in eight years, and wanted to berate the fool who’d thought the décor fashionable. Everywhere she looked was pink: pink coverlet, pink longue, and pink dressing table complete with a set of pink, pearl-handled brushes. The extravagance of her youth glared back at her from every corner—taunting her to deny the girl she’d been. She thought about the mouths she could feed and the medical treatment that could be administered with the money spent acquiring all the useless and extravagant items that cluttered just this room. The brushes alone could feed a whole orphanage for a fortnight—could have kept Foldger’s Foals in business for months.
Emotions coursed through her: regret, disappointment, but mostly shame. Shame at what she’d put her father and Brock’s family through. Shame at her own lack of appreciation for life, her own and that of Cody and Winston. While her world had altered greatly that day, ultimately it was Brock’s brothers who had paid the price, sacrificing their lives, their chance at a future, for a foolish game and the possibility of winning her affection.
She slid onto the bench at her dressing table and looked in the mirror. It had been so long since she’d worried about her appearance. What stared back at her was a woman barely recognizable compared to the girl she had been when last she’d occupied this room. Her hair trailed long down her back in wild waves that couldn’t be tamed, her skin so dark it appeared she’d lived in the sun for years. Vi pushed her mane of mocha-colored hair behind her ears and her hands came into view. They were just as worn as her hair and skin, covered in calluses from her hours caring for the horses.
It had been a form of punishment that she’d adopted early on after her exile. All the money she had spent to purchase fancy clothes, all the time she’d taken to have her hair styled in just the right fashion—what had that gotten her? Nothing but blood on her hands. The loss of two innocent lives. If she hadn’t been the vain and shallow girl she had been, where would Cody and Winston be now? Happily married with families of their own, or still foolish boys seeking to entertain themselves with the next big thrill? It didn’t matter what path they each chose; at least they’d be alive. Only she was responsible for robbing them of this.
There was naught she could do about her appearance except tie back her hair, apply powder, and don gloves morning, noon, and night. It all seemed hardly worth the effort.
She sighed. And what of Brock? Would he still be serving the King if his father was alive? The image of Brock smiling as he twirled a tall blond-haired beauty around a crowded ballroom filled her head. The woman laughed, joyously and without reserve, as they spun faster, moving between other couples effortlessly. Had she stolen this from him, too? The chance to live unencumbered by sadness and loneliness would be her wish for him.
A light tap sounded at the door.
“Enter,” she called.
Ruby stuck her head into the room, a broad smile on her face. “The modiste is here.”
Viola pasted on an answering smile and turned to her friend, determined not to damper the girl’s jovial mood. “Wonderful. Have you a list ready of all you will require?” Her father, true to form, had given them unlimited funds to obtain all they needed to re-enter society in the height of fashion. Like her surroundings now, it all seemed a colossal waste. “Shall we?”
With one last look at her girlish room, Vi followed Ruby to the morning room—which turned out to contain even more pink than her bed chamber. She wished once again that it was possible to go back in time. She would have a lecture—or five—for her younger self. What she wouldn’t give for the opportunity to go back and warn herself about the consequences of her actions.
“Mademoiselle Viola.” A short, lithe woman with ebony hair and ample bosom dropped into a deep curtsey. “It is an honor to dress you in the latest fashions.” The woman’s accent disappeared with the last.
“You must be Madame Sauvage. Thank you for attending us on such short notice.”
“There is no problem with short notice.” The petite woman snapped her fingers and four women materialized at her side, each with measuring tape in hand. “My girls will attain your measurements and those of Mademoiselle Ruby. Then, we will discuss color and material.”
Viola did not have the chance to respond before Madame Sauvage again snapped her fingers and the girls set about measuring every plane on her body—and some planes she had not known existed. Ruby looked similarly uncomfortable as one girl measured her around her breasts and then her hips.
Thankfully, the girls were adept at their job and quickly motioned them over to where Madame Sauvage laid out bolt after beautiful bolt of rich silks, gauzy gossamer, and sturdy cotton. “You both will need eight evening gowns, five morning dresses, two riding habits, and a few night shifts. . . . And of course kid shoes, gloves, parasols, ribbons, and wraps to match each,” the woman said without looking up from her task.
As the woman listed off the items, Viola attempted to keep track of the cost in mind. Too late, she realized she had not the faintest idea of how much a dress fit for London society cost. She had been accustomed to ordering ready-made gowns from the local seamstress in Winchester.
“I believe this would look exquisite on your Mademoiselle Viola.” The woman held up a length of the most beautiful, iridescent purple silk.
Vi stepped forward and ran her hand along the material.
“It will look divine, Vi,” Ruby gushed. “The men will be falling all over themselves to place their names on your dance card.”
“I sincerely doubt that—”
“Non, you will be the talk of the town in this,” Madame Sauvage assured her. “I will cut the front daringly low, you are not a debutante any longer, and I will craft you a one-of-a-kind cap.” She stood back and assessed Vi’s bosom.
The comment about Vi’s advanced age might have bothered some women, but she was comfortable in her status as an aged, unmarried lady. “Not too daring or I fear my father will not allow me to leave the house.” Vi winked at the woman, and all three broke out in laughter. Whether or not they were all laughing at the same joke, Vi could not be certain.
“I think an emerald green and deep red would also suit your . . .” the woman trailed off.
“Yes, I have always had naturally sun-kissed skin,” Viola said to cover the awkward moment. She could not help wondering if the woman knew her past.
Without missing a beat, Madame turned to Ruby. “You, Mademoiselle, will do well with pastels. Your youth will be enhanced by lavender and powder blue.”
Ruby and Vi glanced at each other and both broke into another fit of giggles.
“I do not understand what is so funny,” Madame Sauvage said seriously.
“It is only that Ruby is five years older than myself,” Viola said in between giggles.
The woman looked back and forth between them, her brow scrunched as she examined both Ruby and Vi. Finally, her gaze settled on Ruby. “You, it will be much easier to find a husband for.”
Ruby blanched and her eyes popped open wide.
The woman’s proclamation would prove truer than she knew.
Whether her friend’s look was due to the forwardness of the Madame’s response or the idea that she might actually attract a match, Vi wanted to learn. She’d been so worried about her own future, she had not stopped to think about Ruby’s. Surely her friend’s goal was not to stay with Vi for the rest of her life.
“Well, I think pastels are all the rage,” Vi said to cover the awkwardness that had settled on the room.
“And with Mademoiselle’s coloring it will be just the—”
Raised voices and footsteps stopped the modiste mid-sentence. The door flung open before the butler could announce their visitor, and Ruby mother stormed into the room, her nostrils flaring.
“Momma!” Ruby squealed in delight. The smile that settled on her friend’s face made her appear barely out of the schoolroom.
“What are you doing in London?” Mrs. St.
Augustin barged past Vi and the modiste to stop directly in front of her daughter, who now cowered like a child.
Viola was about to step in to defuse the woman’s agitation, but Mrs. St. Augustin took a breath and seemed to regain control of her emotions.
That is odd, Vi thought. Why would Ruby’s mother be upset at her presence in London? Most mothers would be overjoyed to learn that their daughter would be afforded a season in London—even if only part of a season—at no expense to them.
The smile plastered on the woman’s face threatened to crack her hard exterior. “Excuse my shock. I had not expected you.” She embraced Ruby in a stiff hug. “Why did you not write to inform me you were planning a trip to town?”
A faint smile returned to Ruby’s face. Vi could not help but wonder how long it had been since they’d seen each other. Vi had only met Mrs. St. Augustin once in all these years and Ruby had stopped traveling home for holidays some years ago, stating she did not want to leave Vi and her father alone.
“I fear I am to blame for Ruby not sending word that we were coming,” Viola said. She rushed over to stand beside Ruby, not sure why she felt her friend needed her support, but more than willing to give it. “I decided to uproot everyone on a whim and here we are. I am so fortunate to have a dear friend such as your daughter to indulge me.” Now, all three of the women had not-so-genuine smiles pasted on their faces.
“Mother, please have a seat and I will ring for tea.”
“No need, I cannot stay. I only wanted to see if I had heard correctly.” The woman appeared to look around the room for the first time, noticing the modiste and her staff milling about. “A fitting? Do you plan to stay long?”
“That is up to Lady Viola and her father,” Ruby said.
“We will be staying on in London for the duration of the season,” Viola answered, turning a reassuring look at Ruby.
“Well, that is good to know. I look forward to seeing you ladies out and about. I must be going now, for I have tea with Lady Darlingiver shortly.” Mrs. St. Augustin moved to leave without a final goodbye to Ruby. Viola could swear she heard the woman mumble, “London is in trouble.”
While Vi missed her mother greatly, she would rather not have a mother than be saddled with Ruby’s. The woman had not even asked her daughter to stay at their residence, or invited them to accompany her for tea.
“Shall we get back to our fun? We still have fifty shades of pastels to sort through for you.” Vi squeezed Ruby’s shoulder in support. “This puce would look stunning with your green eyes.”
“I am sure your complexion is much more suited to the color then my own.”
“I do believe the color will look exquisite with both your coloring,” Madame called.
Vi and Ruby exchanged a horrified glance over the thought of wearing puce in public. With a laugh, the tension was broken and they returned to the table overflowing with materials.
“Do you not think your mother was a bit on edge?” Vi asked as they searched through ribbons after selecting their materials. She did not want to overstep their friendship, but she was curious about her friend’s strange relationship with her mother.
“Oh, Mother is always on edge, fearing the world will end at any moment and such nonsense.” The nonchalant reply did not fool Vi. Ruby had been guarded since her mother’s departure, and in fact always stiffened a bit at the woman’s mention.
One day, Vi would press her for the reason. Alas, today was not that day.
“Do you fear she does not agree with our association while in London? I will understand if she does . . .” Viola glanced up to find Ruby closely studying two green ribbons, almost identical in hue. “I mean to say, she must be concerned with you finding a worthy match.”
“My mother gave up on the possibility of a match for me years ago—when my father died, to be exact. Any offer at this point would most assuredly be acceptable to her,” Ruby answered as she brought the ribbons closer to her face for inspection. “Which shade of green do you prefer?”
“Verily, they appear the same to me.” Yes, today was not the day to dampen her friend’s spirits, but one day in the very near future Vi would pursue the topic.
Shunned No More Page 35
