“I dinnae understand.” Callum shook his head, sucked air into his lungs. “What will happen to ye? If ye sell the company, where will ye—”
“I’m moving to France.”
When he met his cousin’s eyes, James looked calm, as though he wasn’t about to throw his entire life away. “What do ye mean, ye’re moving to France? How the hell will ye survive with no money?”
Splotches of pink appeared high on his cheeks, and the corner of his mouth pushed into his cheek. “I’m going with Timothy—Trembly. He… we’re going to Paris together.”
Callum recoiled. “No, not again, James, ye dinnae ken the man, he could be—”
“Using me? Blackmailing me?” He chuckled. “What reason would he have? It’s not as though we have any money to give him. Really, Cal, I never thought you to be a terrible judge of character, but perhaps you are. He’s Violet’s friend, remember?”
His heart pulsed, an agonizing ache at the sound of her name. But Callum had no time to nurse that wound. “I ken ye only met him a few weeks ago—”
“You fell in love with Violet in a few weeks’ time.” James’s eyes were flashing, the flush now running down his neck. “Just because you’re willing to throw that away doesn’t mean I will do the same. I love Timothy, aye? I know I’ve said that before, about otherpeople, but this is different. He is different. And I’m better when I’m with him.”
Callum could scarcely think over the thrumming of his pulse, the bands pulling tighter around his chest. “Ye won’t be safe. I cannae protect ye if ye’re in Paris.”
James pulled his lips between his teeth, then released them. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m capable of caring for myself, as is Mam. Besides, I’ll be far safer in Paris than I ever was here.”
Tears burned at his throat, his nose, and Callum choked back a sob. “I-I dinnae ken what to do without ye being here. All I’ve wanted is to protect ye. What am I if I cannae do that?”
The look James gave him was nothing short of pity. “You’ll have to be yourself.” He nodded towards the bills of sale. “I need an answer, Cal. What are you going to do?”
Chapter 39
Summer came to Scotlandmuch later than it did to Hampshire.
While the grassy meadows surrounding Aunt Margaret’s estate had withered to a dull brown in the August heat, the fields lining the train tracks south of Edinburgh bloomed with aggressive green foliage, as though the Scottish landscape wanted to remind the Sassenachs what they’d been missing out on. Fat sheep clamored up the sloping hillsides dotted with ruined castles, the entire site too romantic to comprehend.
But Violet hardly saw it, her mind somewhere in the jungles of Panama.
She assumed they would be jungles, at least, her imagination drawing images fromRobinson Crusoeand Kipling to provide a backdrop for her thoughts of Callum.
He must miss Scottish summers.
Violet cleared her throat, and the surrounding passengers paid her no attention. The second-class car was packed, but, aside fromthe odor, she had no complaints. Any more comfort and she’d be forced to focus on the regrets shifting through mind instead of the burnt-onion scent wafting off the gentleman sitting across from her.
A fortnight in Paris would be delightful, she’d said when Timothy inquired. He and James had settled into their apartment a block off the Champs-Élysées and were eager to host their scandalous spinster friend and explore their new neighborhood and all the debauchery within. She was more than willing to borrow their spare room as a central location for scouting museums and cafes. Aunt Margaret was growing impatient with her presence in Hampshire, and Violet knew it would soon be time to establish herself elsewhere, to start the new life she’d wanted.
If only she didn’t despise spinsterhood. More specifically, she detested knowing Callum was as far away as the earth would permit.
She’d been attentive when the locomotive roared over the Forth Bridge; it was widely hailed as an engineering masterpiece, after all. Her eyes had drifted to the water beneath, her throat burning at the soul that was lost under the ice so many years ago…
She straightened in her seat. Callum’s pain was not hers, and he’d taken care to make sure she was severed from his life. An ocean put between them.
Not that she held any bitterness, none at all.
This was what she’d wanted, she reflected as the train pulled into the station in Aberdour. One where she was free to travel with unrelated men, where she could spend the night in a lovely Scottishvillage Timothy had insisted they visit before they departed for Calais, then continued on to the capital city. She couldn’t continue to live as an unencumbered woman forever; she’d spoken with the headmistress of a girls’ school in Portsmouth about helping teach. While it would be a humble existence, it would at least be a fulfilling one.
She breathed in salinated air the moment she disembarked, then nearly tipped sideways with the weight of her valise. When the steam cleared enough, she spotted Timothy and James standing side by side, the former clutching a posy of violets and sporting a wide grin.
The men descended on her within seconds, James grabbing her bag from her hand while Timothy wrapped her in an embrace and spun her around, drawing scandalized glares from other passengers. A fleeting thrill of being able to ignore their disdain pulsed through her as they hustled her out of the station and onto the main street.
“Lord, I’ve missed you,” Timothy gushed as they descended the slight hill towards the sea. “Our ship doesn’t leave until tomorrow, and I adored Aberdour when James brought me last month.”
Violet grinned, tipping her head back so the bright sun could kiss her cheeks. “I can see why.” The cheerful, painted storefronts lining the cobbled road were flush with bright geraniums and coneflowers climbing over whitewashed stone walls. Further down the road, the brilliant blue curve of the outer edges of the Firth at Forth beckoned her as it came into view, the luminous pale slash of sand dotted with sunbathers and frolicking children.
James detoured at a side street to deliver her bag to the inn where they were spending the night, promising to meet them at the beach. “Is it warm enough to swim?” Violet asked, not that she’d be dipping more than her toes into the water.
