Page 81 of Again, Scoundrel

Violet made a face. “No ratafia or I’m not attending.”

Catherine grinned. “Agreed. I only mentioned it to make sure you were properly awake.”

Violet eased herself up from her comfortable, down-filled bed.

“I am. And I’ll hurry.”

Violet finished her toilet in record time for a lady of the ton, and despite the maid’s grumbling, she liked her hair. Her curls were loosely swept into a chignon with tendrils framing her face.

“You look French,” the woman said with a grimace that told Violet it was not a compliment.

Violet laughed. “I think I look thoroughly American.”

Catherine swept into the room. “Oh,” she said, “you do look French.”

She cast a sly grin at her cousin. “The new Earl is attending this evening, all the way from Paris. Perhaps you can marry him, and we’ll all live here together?”

“I am not marrying your father’s cousin,” Violet said. “And I’m not living in England.”

Catherine shrugged. “As you like. He may not show anyway.”

“How will you know if he did? Have you ever met the man?”

“Not once,” Catherine said. “But if you run into a Lord Sedgewick this evening, he’ll be the one. The new Earl of Chester.”

“And you’re sure about this?” Violet asked, changing the subject. “The marriage?”

“I am.”

Catherine smoothed her skirts, not looking Violet in the eye.

“It’s my best option. I won’t be a pauper or make mother one.”

“Catherine, I’d never let you be a pauper. You must know that. And I thought you had a small portion to your name?”

“I wouldn’t take your money, Violet. You need it for your hospital. It sounds wonderful.”

“And your portion? This Sedgewick did not renege, did he?”

“He did not. But it won’t be enough. Not to do what I want in this world.”

“Which is what, exactly? I will help you, whatever it is. You don’t need to do this.”

“That is the issue,” Catherine said. “I don’t yet know what I want to do. But I know it is something.

“I envy you that, Violet. Your certainty of what your life is for. I’d like to find that too. For myself.”

Violet reached for her cousin. She was a picture of beauty, with her gown of deep emerald tightly cinched at her waist and adorned with pearls and silver thread.

“You are beyond lovely this evening. Pembrooke will fall all over himself for you.”

Catherine grasped Violet’s outstretched hand and squeezed.

“Although,” Violet added, “it is not too late to cry off. The betrothal has not been announced. The banns have not been read.”

“I won’t cry off.”

“But will you be happy?”