There was another small pause, but this one didn’t feel strained. Lady Carfield smiled slightly at her daughter, and Violet smiled back.
“Iris was not so quick to forgive me,” Lady Carfield noted.
“Maybe it helps that I had a mother figure,” Violet said. “Iris was my mother in a way. But poor Iris, because she was the eldest, was the one who had to live without a mother figure. And she remembers life with you better than I do. It’s mostly a blur for me.”
“Well, I’m glad I get to be your mother again,” Lady Carfield murmured.
“Me too.”
“And in that vein, if you really aren’t angry with me, then I would like to use my motherly position to give you some advice. I wanted to say that in order to become close to someone, you have to be willing to open yourself up to them.”
“What do you mean?” Violet asked swiftly.
Is she talking about me and her, or me and James?
Her mother didn’t answer right away, but when she did, her words were circuitous.
“You were always my most reserved child, you know,” Lady Carfield began, frowning thoughtfully. “I know you think you only became reserved after I left in order to protect you from your father, but you were like that before anyway. Perhaps not so much as you are now. But you were always the quietest of my girls, the one who was least expressive, and at the same time the most thoughtful and practical.”
“What are you trying to say, Mama?” Violet asked, unsure how to decipher all of this.
Her mother gave her a sad smile. “I don’t know what happened between you and your husband after we got back from thathorrendous trip, but I can tell thatsomethinghappened. The two of you were so happy when we left the inn. And it made me so happy to see it—my daughter happily married to a man who adores her and who would put his life on the line for her.”
“I wouldn’t say he adores me,” Violet protested at once.
“A mother can tell,” Lady Carfield insisted, with an air of mystery. “I know when a man adores one of my daughters.”
“Well, he certainly isn’t acting like it now.”
“Yes, well, I can see that. And while I can’t pretend to be an expert on marriage, I do know that the strongest relationships can only stem from emotional honesty.”
“Why are you assuming I’m the one who wasn’t emotionally honest?” Violet asked, a little put out.
After all,shehad kissed James.Shehad put herself out there. It was he who had rejected her and pushed her away.
“I’m not assuming that,” Lady Carfield said, patting her shoulder. “Maybe he’s the one I should be talking to about this, but you’re my daughter, so you’re the one to whom I’m giving the advice.” Her expression became very serious. “Love is worth taking a risk for, my darling. It’s worth opening yourself to, even if it’s scary. And it’s worth giving the person you love a second chance if they are struggling to open up.”
Violet’s heart clenched painfully at her mother’s words. The pain was too much to handle, and she felt it morph into anger and defensiveness.
“You sound just like Rosalie now,” she huffed. “The Duke and I have a marriage of convenience only, and I would ask you not to use that word”—she couldn’t bring herself to say it, but she knew her mother would know which word she meant—“again.”
“But—” Lady Carfield began, but Violet cut her off, standing up as she spoke.
“I know you have good intentions, Mama, but I can promise you, the Duke and I are not in the throes of any kind of romantic passion. We have our differences, yes, but it is not of the nature that you suspect. And while I agree that love is worth the vulnerability, that’s not relevant in my life.”
“Violet,” Lady Carfield pleaded, standing up as well, “don’t do this. Don’t push me away as well.”
“I’m not,” Violet said stiffly. “I’m merely correcting your impression of my marriage. I assure you, I am well, and the Duke and I will clear up the misunderstanding we have—our relationship is purely platonic, after all!”
She turned and left the room as quickly as she could, trying not to feel guilty about the crestfallen look on her mother’s face.
“I need to do something other than redecoratethis house,” she muttered to herself as she took the stairs to her bedroom two at a time. “Something to distract me from thinking about my husband.”
She had just thrown herself down on her bed in a dramatic fashion that Rosalie would have been proud of when a knock sounded at her door.
“Enter,” she called, hoping that it wasn’t her mother.
And it wasn’t. It was her lady’s maid.
