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Max had been passionate. He’d been tender, and he’d been loving.
She’d felt loved, and that was what Violet had wanted. She’d not known if it was possible for her heart and soul to soak up another’s emotion and to actually feel loved. She wouldn’t question too hard whether that was manufactured on her part because it didn’t matter. She didn’t have to question whether Max would be around beyond next week, because she knew he wouldn’t.
But he’d made her feel loved and cherished and desired last night, and that was all she’d required.
In a little over a week, Lord Bainbridge would move in to fulfil his role, and Violet would continue to have a roof over her head and good food to eat.
And really, wasn’t that what life was all about?
Existing with the minimum amount of pain.
She rose and dressed in a plain, no-longer-fashionable striped day dress then went downstairs. Several of the girls, their hair unkempt, their eyes lacklustre with weariness, were sewing at the refectory table in the scullery. The modish gowns provided for the evenings were always carefully fitted and chosen, but a girl had to remodel her daywear from the secondhand offerings Madame kept in a wardrobe in the box room.
“That’s a nice dress, Charity,” she said, pouring herself tea from the teapot on the sideboard. “Did your young man buy it for you?”
Of all the girls at Madame Chambon’s, Violet thought Charity the sweetest. The other girls obviously thought the same, for none of them regarded her with envy even though she was clearly the most fortunate of them all.
Violet could not imagine how wonderful it would be to have the loyalty of a man who was simply waiting until he was in a position to make her his own.
“Hugo has to go away.”
As Violet seated herself at the table, a little distance away, she saw the girl’s eyes were red-rimmed. “Going away?” Charity surely didn’t mean for more than a few weeks. Charity and Hugo were simply biding their time until the young man came into his inheritance. “He’ll be back,” she said comfortingly, thinking of Max who really was going away forever. Or as close to that as made no difference. Her heart squeezed with pain.
“His father is sending him away to run his tea plantation in some faraway place across the sea I don’t even want to think about.” Charity put down her dress and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know that I’ll ever see him again.”
“Good lord!” Violet didn’t know what to say. “I…I’m so sorry.”
Charity managed a wan smile. “I shouldn’t have expected the happy ending. Your young man is leaving in less than a week, too. But you shall be married, and I s
hall be your bridesmaid and that will make me very happy, Violet. I need something to cheer me. Something to look forward to.”
“You know it’s only a sham wedding to please his aunt.” The words stuck in Violet’s throat.
“I know. But you’ll have that memory to cherish for the rest of your life.” Charity rethreaded her needle and picked up her sewing again. “You never thought it was anything else.”
Violet suspected Charity had harboured secret hopes that her fairy tale might have had an unconventional ending. That the baronet’s son might really have wed the girl from the gutter.
She poured more tea, spilling some onto the threadbare tablecloth. She didn’t bother to wipe it away. What was the point? Some stains were indelible. And even if the cloth was laundered, it would only gather more filth. Madame’s concern for appearance was only skin-deep. As long as her girls looked their best for their gentleman admirers when they had their pocket books at the ready, she cared little for the rest.
“I will treasure the memory, Charity. Both Max and his aunt have been so very kind.” She stood up suddenly, her voice choking on the words, and instantly Charity dropped her sewing and went to her. “Violet, I’m so sorry. I was thinking only of myself. Of course, you must have hoped for more. Don’t we all?”
Violet shook her head. “I’ve learnt too much to hope that.” She heaved in a breath, stepping blindly towards the door. She mustn’t think so much of herself. She’d accepted the arrangement. There was no point in wishing for what she’d known could never happen. “Why is Hugo allowing his family to send him away?” she asked, stopping and forcing herself to focus on her friend’s distress rather than her own.
Charity stared at the floor. At the two threadbare hems of the day dresses no gentleman would ever see them wear. Violet thought what a dispirited pair they must look and how no gentleman would find either of them the least bit entrancing in the morning gloom.
“He lost a lot of money at the card table.” When she raised her eyes, she looked ashamed. “Hugo doesn’t gamble as a rule. But he was put under a lot of pressure, and he believed he couldn’t lose.” She shrugged. “We all make mistakes and I forgive him but…” She let out a sob. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the grief of losing him.” She put out her hand and gripped Violet’s arm. “You’re so strong, Violet. An inspiration. Truly you are. When Lord Belvedere raises your veil to kiss you in the church, I shall be the one to cry. You’re so much stronger than I could ever be.”
Chapter 11
With his hands thrust into his pockets and his shoulders hunched, Max headed into the wind at Mabel’s side. A stiff breeze was blowing, whipping the trees and sending shivers down his spine. It was not walking weather but clearly, Mabel had something important to say.
Which Max was dreading.
Beneath a spreading oak, they stopped, and Max stared morosely into the murky river, wondering what dreadful thing Mabel would say.
“Well, here we are, alone at last, Max. You must be very angry with me.”
He shrugged, glancing at her. “I wasn’t sure what to think, to tell you the truth.”
