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Yes, it had been dictated, and by someone of exceptional politeness in that the salutation was followed by an apology for the gross lack of manners in being so forward in addressing her with no prior introduction, but that skulduggery of such a nature required a little forgiveness, especially when the sender was motivated by only the best of intentions.
That was rare in a place like this, Violet thought with a stab of irony, squinting in perplexity once she’d digested the contents of the missive before again being overcome by trepidation.
Meet at Claridge’s at 4 o’ clock tomorrow, the writer, a Miss Euphemia Thistlethwaite had requested.
Who on earth was Miss Thistlethwaite? Quite likely respectable, if the notepaper and language were anything to go by. But what did she want of Violet? No doubt she was an emissary who was being well rewarded for her work. Why else would a respectable woman wish to meet with Violet. Be seen with Violet, for that matter. And, in Claridge’s, of all places.
Violet’s first instinct was to pen a polite rebuttal for how could she possibly show her face in a restaurant patronised by London’s wealthy and titled? What if she recognised someone? Or, worse, someone recognised her? Though that would be unlikely in a setting so different from the seamy world her clients patronised. And even if she triggered mild confusion it would hardly be to Violet’s detriment.
A little less than twenty-four hours later Violet, dressed demurely in a navy serge princess-line dress with white lace at her throat and cuffs, was led through the double doors of Claridge’s restaurant and, having named the person she was to be joining, towards a table near the window.
As the personage was facing the street, Violet was given the benefit of sizing up her…adversary? Was Miss Thistlethwaite here to demand more of Violet than she’d already given? Though lord only knew there was little further Violet could fall.
She felt suddenly ill and, to her disgust, realised it was with hope. Since Violet could be reviled no more than she currently was, she could only rise in the world. Perhaps her grandmother had chosen to forgive her on her deathbed? Perhaps Violet had come into some small legacy?
“Miss Thistlethwaite?” She tried to sound confident. As if she had as much right to dine at Claridge’s as anyone else.
A pheasant’s feather was nearly dislodged, as the owner of a romantically festooned piece of millinery turned a pair of smiling blue eyes upon Violet.
“Why, you are exactly what I was expecting,” she exclaimed to Violet’s confusion as she invited her to sit. “Though perhaps, even more of a beauty. But then, that’s hardly surprising. Max always did appreciate beauty of the bolder variety.”
“Max?”
“Your secret is out, my dear.” The playful wag of Miss Thistlethwaite’s fingers compounded Violet’s horror.
“Max…told you about me?” But then, of course, this lady must be referring to a different Max. Not delicious Lord Belvedere of several nights earlier who’d said his name was Max, and whom Violet must try not to think about again or she’d find all her other clients wanting.
“He most certainly did.”
Violet let out a slow breath. Then this Max must have known Violet from long ago. From during the time a gentleman related to a lady like Miss Thistlethwaite would have been happy enough to have claimed an association with Violet.
The emotion conveyed by Violet’s furrowed brow was, however, mistaken by Miss Thistlethwaite who, immediately upon ordering the sweets trolley to be brought round to their table, said, “Have no fear that I’ll divulge any of this to his grandfather. Naturally, he’s opposed to darling Max contracting a marriage to anyone less than an heiress, but since Max’s happiness is all that matters, I am here to facilitate his happiness and, I trust, yours.” She reached across the table, nearly touching Violet’s gloved hand, before withdrawing it quickly, perhaps perceiving the inappropriateness of such familiarity on so little association. Clearly, Miss Thistlethwaite was a woman who acted on her heartstrings. Rather endearing really, Violet thought with a little tug of her own heartstrings. Her mother had been the same. Not Violet, though. Or Emily. They’d had to learn to guard their hearts when they could only trust one another.
Now, of course, Violet had no one. No one to trust, though she did like Miss Thistlethwaite with her bright, eager eyes and her birdlike movements. The elderly lady seemed like someone who really did believe that happiness could be plucked from thin air.
“If you are referring to the Max I believe you are, he was to have been wed to a worthy young lady only yesterday,” Violet said slowly. Then, at Miss Thistlethwaite’s nod, added, “A much more suitable young lady than I.” For if Miss Thistlethwaite supposed Violet could possibly be a marital contender, then it would be far better to nip such delusions in the bud before anyone was more embarrassed than they need be.
“Indeed he was. Jilted at the altar. Terrible business! Why, I thought his heart was breaking until I realised it had already been broken.” She pointed an accusing finger at Violet. “By you, Miss Lilywhite. Yes, no need to look so concerned. I’ve already told you I’ve no intention of divulging this to anyone. Not before the time is right.”
“When the time is right?’ Violet clasped her hands together in her lap to stop them shaking while she thought of gorgeous young Max. Of his strong, muscled young body, his dazzling smile and his…
She closed her eyes. She must not think of that when she was speaking to his aunt, though the athleticism with which he’d conducted himself still had Violet’s body in thrall.
“Miss Thistlethwaite, you…you don’t know what kind of girl I am.” She swallowed. There really would be too much embarrassment to follow any wild assumptions on Miss Thistlethwaite’s part being allowed to flourish. “I don’t know what Max had said about me, but he surely hasn’t hinted at what you seem to think.” She couldn’t even put it into words. Marriage? Violet would be lucky to marry one of the burly protectors who lounged about Madame Chambon’s premises to keep the girls safe. More likely, though, she’d be discarded the moment her looks started to fade. Not every girl was as lucky as Charity whose devoted young man paid a small fortune to Madame Chambon to protect the girl he’d met the night they’d both shed their virginity, and whom he was determined to wed when he came into his inheritance in a year’s time.
“Not to you, perhaps. He was, after all, acceding to duty by wedding his childhood friend until she cried off.” Miss Thistlethwaite looked overjoyed. “But now he’s free.” She dabbed at her eyes. “You’re both free. When Max told me he’d long been in love with a young lady with absolutely nothing other than her charm and beauty to recommend her, I resolved there and then that I would ensure I would go to my grave knowing my darling Max could marry the woman he truly loved.”
Violet’s mouth felt very dry. She took a sip of the water that had just been placed in front of her and managed, “I think you have rather jumped to conclusions, Miss Thistlethwaite.”
“Oh, no need to keep playing the game for my benefit. I see how it is.” The woman’s eyes twinkled. “You both knew Lord Granville would disapprove—as he would, no doubt about it—if you and Max were to marry. But I know what it is to live one’s whole life with the disappointment of being denied one’s true love purely on account of lack of finances, and I’m determined that is not going to happen to Max.”
Violet frowned. “I’m sure I can’t imagine what Max said about me,” she fished. “Or how you even knew where to find me.”
Miss Thistlethwaite wagged her finger playfully at Violet once again. “If I’d been born a man, I’d have become one of those special policemen or investigators searching for clues. I’m good at it. Sniffing out secrets. When it was clear Max didn’t want to say any more about you—no doubt fearing I might unwisely tell his grandfather—I simply had John Coachman deliver my letter to the premises Max had visited the previous night. It was very simple, really.”
Violet spluttered. “So that’s how you found me?”
