“Good morning, Papa,” she greeted.
He turned at the sound of her voice. “Vi!”
He drew her into a hug, looking her over frantically like he had expected to find her injured.
“You look well,” he remarked, looking in Ruaridh’s direction with suspicion.
The unspoken accusation was there. As a typical English gentleman, he thought himself more civilized than the brutish Scots.
It was ironic that what they considered civilization was simply elaborate dresses, beautiful houses, and expensive events. But somewhere in their eagerness to look perfect outwardly, they had lost human decency to the point that it became normal for them to think of relationships like transactions—a bride for a title, currency before family. Useless if they could not buy power in their fickle society. They thought that meant they were sophisticated. Somehow, being cold and calculating was now exalted over being human.
The Highlands were different. Most of them had no qualms about airing out their grievances. Everyone worked for a living and lived a communal life. It was very far from glamorous, at least not in the way the English thought of the world, but life felt purposeful here, better than a performance. It was real and peaceful.
Violet knew there was no way her papa would understand if she explained. He was too much of an Englishman to do so. So she answered simply, “I am fine, Papa. What brings you here?”
Her father looked in Ruaridh’s direction again, like he expected him to attack. She did not blame him; Ruaridh definitely looked dangerous. Having just returned from an early morning sparring session, he was shirtless. And now he crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps defined and glistening with sweat, legs apart, watching her father with razor-sharp attention.
While that posture was distracting for her, it was having a different effect on her father. He wasintimidated.
Stepping closer to her, he pitched his voice lower. “You do not have to suffer here any longer. I have come to take you home.” His triumphant tone was that of one who thought himself a hero who had come to save a damsel in distress.
Except there was no damsel in distress, and even if she was, there were several people in the castle who would play the role better than her.
“I am not suffering, Papa. I wish to stay here. I love it here,” she said sweetly, enjoying the sight of his excitement morphing into shock.
“You cannot mean that,” he spluttered, outrage turning his face a reddish hue. He was growing overset. He whipped his head in Ruaridh’s direction and said in a low whisper, “Do not tell me you are doing this because of the Laird. Even barbarians do nothave the right to kidnap another’s bride. The law is against it. I can take you home, where I would be able to protect you.”
“Protect me?” Violet heard herself snap. “You had the chance to do that, and you did not, and now you want to take me back to London? Did you forget that I am ruined to the ton? How do you intend to protect me from their judgment when you could not protect me from Lord Westall, even though I told you over and over that I did not want to marry him?”
“I-I was only thinking about you. He is a man of means and connections. I wanted to be sure that you would be well settled if I were no more.”
“You do not care if I was happy?”
He did not answer. He just watched her with a helpless expression.
“Well, what happens now? You know I cannot return to England. I am already ruined. Whatever prospects I had are now ruined, so it is useless to go back there.”
“Not necessarily,” he said eagerly, regaining his spark. “Lord Westall promises to make sure the ton will not gossip about you.”
“How does he expect to do that? He might be powerful, but not enough to stop people from talking.”
“He hopes to tell them you went on a trip to Scotland before your nuptials.”
“Then how does he hope to explain the squabble at the church?”
“A theatre drama.”
Except that a church was not a theatre.
Her father was either very stupid or a mad genius, and in this moment, he looked more like the former.
At that moment, the reason he had gone through the rigors of travel became clearer. It was not because he missed his only daughter. It was simple; he came to conduct a campaign that would see her back in Lord Westall’s arms.
Violet would like to say she was surprised, but she had always known that her father was a selfish coward who cared about himself first before any other person.
“What did he promise you?” she asked quietly, curling her right hand into a fist, resisting the urge to give in to rage at him.
“I do not know what you mean,” he said, avoiding her gaze.
