The woman’s expression softened, and Violet saw the imprints of her life in the lines on her face. When she spoke, her voice was unsteady. “I’m lonely, darling. Why do you think I always offer to spend time with you girls? Your mother is lovely to indulge me, but at twenty-five, you’re not in need of a chaperone.”
Violet rushed to her aunt’s side and took her hand as she sat by the woman’s feet. “I love seeing you, as does my family.” A bit of a lie—every time Aunt Margaret came to stay at their home in Oxfordshire, her father invented pressing business in London while her mother hid the good sherry in the outbuildings.
Margaret snorted. “You humor me, but that’s my right as an old woman. And don’t you dare tell me I’m not old,” she barked when Violet opened her mouth to contradict her. “Every time I wake up, I start by thanking God that I’m still above the ground. Then I wonder if anyone will miss me once I’ve left this realm.”
Tears pressed at Violet’s throat, and she squeezed her aunt’s hand tighter. “Please don’t say things like that. Of course we’ll miss you—”
“Bah,” she interrupted, pulling her hand away to smooth a hair that had come out of her careful chignon. Violet didn’t miss how her fingers trembled. “I’ve made my choices, as have you, and there is nothing to be done about them now.”
Shame flooded her chest, and a tear fell from Violet’s eye. She swiped it away. “I wish I’d had better sense with Gregory. If I’d been more careful, our family wouldn’t be struggling, my father—”
“You have enough to worry about without punishing yourself, darling.” The hard edge to her aunt’s voice had returned, and Violet felt an odd sense of comfort in hearing it. “Your father paid that bastard because he loves you and wants to protect you. Your mother shed tears because you’re hurting, and a mother always feels her child’s pain. Even this horrid arrangement with Sir Phineas was done out of concern for you, securing a future for you. Yes, they’ve handled it poorly, but don’t question your family’s love for you.”
The tears fell in earnest now, and Aunt Margaret rolled her eyes before drawing a handkerchief from her pocket, then thrust it in Violet’s direction. How easy it had been to cast her mother and father as the villains in her story, when they’d only been trying their best in an unprecedented situation. Nothing could change what had happened to her or her family, and dwelling in the past would only rob her of the future. She still had control, a measure of power over the outcomes.
She sniffed and rubbed at her nose. “Do you think I’m mad for doing this?”
“Mad? No.” Margaret looked thoughtful for a moment. “Rash, perhaps. Certainly short-sighted. But I can understand desperation.” She reached to take her niece’s hand, eyed her soiled handkerchief, and withdrew her fingers with a wrinkled nose. “Tell me about this Scottish boy. He’s wild for you, isn’t he?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, then to the aching place between her thighs. “I think so.”
“And how do you feel about him?”
The heavy, foreboding sensation returned to her chest. “I’m wild for him as well.”
Margaret hummed. “But he won’t marry you?”
Violet shook her head. “Even if he asked, I wouldn’t accept. He’s leaving for South America and won’t be back for years. I won’t spend my days worrying about his safety, putting my life on a shelf while I wait for him to return.”
Her aunt’s thoughtful expression returned. “Do you want my advice, darling?”
A snort slipped out, followed by a laugh. “When have you refrained from telling me what I should do?”
“What are old ladies good for if not unwanted guidance?” She grinned, and Violet’s heart swelled with affection. “Let yourself indulge while you can, but protect yourself. And when your affair ends, know you will recover from the heartbreak. You’ve rebuilt yourself before and you’ll do it again.”
Violet sniffed and blew her nose. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Yes, you do, and you certainly can. You’re my family, after all.” Margaret leaned forward and placed her hand on Violet’s knee. “A lady is raised in a garden, curated from a tender bud into a blossom. A woman, however, is forged in fire, given fine points by knife blades and depth by glacial erosion. You are a strong woman, Violet, and I am so very proud of youbecauseof your past, not inspite of it.”
Violet threw her arms around her aunt and squeezed, and the old woman laughed, patting her on the back. “You’re an excellent chaperone, Aunt Margaret,” she said into her aunt’s shoulder. “The very best. Thank you.”
“You’re a lovely girl. Now, will you call Barney for me? It seems I’ve run out of sherry.”
Chapter 28
Like all Scotsmen, Callumheld a healthy respect for spirits, both of the alcoholic and ghostly varieties. He would expect a residence as ancient as Claremont Abbey to have its fair share of bogies and blaistigs, perhaps even a buidseach. But now, the only ethereal creature haunting him was Violet Waverly.
Every floorboard in his hallway creaked when stepped on, and more than once Callum had embarrassed himself by flinging the door open, certain he would find the woman he’d been expecting, only to stun a passing guest. Once he’d frightened one of Valebrook’s maids into screaming and throwing a cup of milk in Callum’s face.
After washing up again, he checked his surrounded for what he hoped would be the last time. The fire burned warm enough to keep the room comfortable, but not so warm she’d become overheated. He’d purloined a bottle of wine and two glasses from the kitchens, and, after visiting the linen closet—but keeping thedoor open—he’d put fresh linens on the bed and turned back the counterpane.
Callum had slipped out of the play at intermission, as James had suggested, complaining of a headache to Valebrook before hiring a hack to take him to Claremont Abbey. A shudder-inducing bribe to a footman had ensured the delivery of his note to Violet’s room, but would she be awake to receive it at the late hour?
He wasn’t foolish enough to hope she’d forgotten what happened at the lake, his humiliating display of attempted heroism followed by an attack of nerves. His spine shuddered as he recalled his terror, the sight of her prone body in the water—
She was fine, healthy. But he needed to see her again, assure himself that she was well. If they happened to indulge the attraction between them, he would welcome the opportunity to give her pleasure. But he’d have to face the reality that had been worrying the back of his mind from the first day they’d met.
Walking away from Violet Waverly would be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
