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“Yes, I know,” Violette sighed as she released Rupert and went back to folding up the lily pad. It was slowly forming a small boat shape, one that she placed on the pond behind her. The leaf did not work well to hold its shape. For the brief second it remained, Violette imagined Victor on a similar boat, somewhere in the ocean near the Continent, on his Grand Tour. Then the leaf unfolded and fell flat on the pond’s surface once again.
“Have you heard from Victor?” she asked.
“Not since you asked two days ago,” Rowena said, stepping forward. “Your brother will be busy with his travels.”
“I suppose…” Violette paused, knowing the answer to her question anyway but desiring to ask it again, for she wanted it so. “It is not something you would ever allow me to do?”
“Ladies do not travel and go on Grand Tours, dear,” Rowena said tartly, reaching down for Violette’s arm. She took hold of her under her elbow and dragged her to her feet. “Now, you must come and meet our guests, or your father will be most upset at us both.” Violette made no other objection, for Rupert seemed to be doing enough for the both of them, barking madly at Violette’s feet as he ran behind her. “You really are going to have to get control of that animal.”
“He’s protecting me, that is all,” Violette said softly, making a cooing sound down at Rupert, who wagged his tail all the more for the attention.
“I thought the days I found you hiding in the garden with Victor and the dogs were long gone.” Rowena sighed as she walked toward the house. “After your debut, you will not be able to do this anymore.”
Violette said nothing, for she fully intended to continue doing it. The garden and estate of Snowspring were her true home. There was not a day where she wasn’t in them, either admiring the gardens themselves, or playing with the dogs, riding horses, anything to be out of the house!
“Mother, you can release my arm a little,” Violette said, breaking the silence as they drew nearer to the house.
“So that you can run off again? I think not!”
Violette thought wryly of how surprisingly strong Rowena was for a woman who was so weak in nature that she always bent to her husband’s will.
Ahead of them, the house appeared through the yew bushes. Made of bright white brick in the Palladian style with pillars out in the front, a terrace on the back, and so many windows that it was difficult to count them. It was a fine house indeed, yet Violette was not fond of it.
The beautiful white building stood more like a prison to her, set to incarcerate her in a world where ladies were supposed to be demure and accomplished. She was neither of those things!
“Our poor guests will think you do not welcome them to our house,” Rowena said as they walked up the steps of the terrace toward the back entrance of the manor.
“I am sure they do not care too much, Mother,” Violette said quietly.
The moment they stepped inside, Rowena released her arm and closed the door tightly behind them, clearly showing she had no intention of letting Violette outside again. Angered, Violette looked down to Rupert, who whimpered and sat back on his haunches.
“We’re stuck, Rupert,” she said softly, to which Rupert whimpered again in sympathy.
“Drawing room, now,” Rowena said, flicking her fingers to point down the corridor and toward the drawing room at the far side. They moved halfway down the corridor together before Rowena pulled her to a stop and started fussing, adjusting the wildness of her hair as much as possible and even rearranging the way her sleeves sat upon her shoulders.
“Mother, I am a woman, not an ornament,” Violette complained. “Nobody expects me to look perfect.”
Rowena said nothing in reply, but she lifted her eyebrows as though to ask, ‘do they not?’ Sighing and abandoning the endeavour to tame Violette’s hair that would not be tamed, they turned to the drawing room door and stepped inside.
Violette carried herself well into the room, though she was aware she fidgeted constantly with her hands, nervous about whoever their guests were. She kept looking down to Rupert by her feet too, whose presence she took comfort in. The Jack Russel seemed to sense it, for he brushed along her ankles, through the hem of her dress, offering that small comfort.
“Ah, here they are.” Her father’s voice called her attention, and she looked up.
Lord Gideon Brunlow stood from his armchair and walked across the room toward her to introduce her. His tall figure was striking, and the copper hair on his head familiar, for she had seen it every day in her own mirror. With a false smile on his cheeks, he turned to her, showing approval of her that she knew he did not really feel.
“Allow me to introduce my daughter, Lady Violette Blay,” he said, gesturing to her. Violette curtsied before lifting her eyes to see their guests. “Violette, this is Marcus Catling, the Earl of Northrive, and his brother, Lord Walter Catling.”
As the men bowed, Violette’s eyes settled on the taller one of the two, the Earl of Northrive. To her surprise, her palms felt instantly clammy as she stared at him. He was a classically handsome figure, with the kind of bearing in his features she’d find in artwork gracing the halls of Somerset House Gallery in London.
His dark hair was short but wavy and tousled around his forehead, inviting someone to touch those loose locks. With a straight nose and strong features, he had a noble countenance and deep brown eyes, the colour of cloves. She tried desperately to keep her eyes on his face, yet they slid down to his figure of their own accord, where she saw an athletic torso straining against the confines of the tailcoat and waistcoat, lithe in build.
“Lady Violette,” the Earl said as he bowed before lifting his eyes to her.
“Lady Violette.” The greeting was repeated by his brother. Violette darted her eyes to the younger brother to see he had similar features to his older brother, though not quite so handsome a bearing and definitely not so athletic of figure. She offered them both a smile before returning her eyes to the Earl, deciding she could spend many happy moments staring at his features. When she felt a sharp, subtle elbow in her side delivered by her father, she knew she had to stop staring and say something.
“It is a pleasure to meet you both.” Her words were met with nods of politeness. She must have stared at the Earl for too long, for he looked to his brother, holding something of a mischievous glint in his eyes. That glint lit up his features, making the sternness that had been there before soften, and somehow make him even more handsome than before.
“Violette, perhaps you could play the pianoforte for us?” Gideon said hurriedly. She turned her eyes on her father, seeing that he was simply finding an excuse now to stop her from staring so openly at someone.
