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“Let me fetch my solicitor’s details now,” Lord Brunlow said and stood to his feet, walking out of the room. He left through the same door that Lady Violette had gone through. The move made Marcus’ thoughts slip back to Lady Violette.
He knew well enough he would have to marry soon, his father kept saying the same thing, repeatedly! Yet he didn’t doubt Lady Violette was not the kind of young lady he had in mind. Marcus would have to put that attraction he felt for the lady out of his head for good.
***
“Rupert, c-come in.” Violette held open the chamber door and stammered out the words for the Jack Russel to follow her. He did as she asked, before she closed the door behind him and let the tears come.
It seemed she would always be an embarrassment to her father, no matter what she did. It hadn’t mattered that she didn’t want to play or had even forewarned him that her skills were just as shocking as he remembered. He embarrassed her still and then humiliated her by sending her from the room.
“Oh, why can I not be far away from here with Victor!” she wailed as she stepped further into the room. As she clambered onto her bed, flinging herself back in anger, Rupert jumped up onto the bed too and rested on his haunches, watching her. She closed her eyes, blocking out the view of the dog as she thought back to what had just happened. In her mind’s eye, she could see the drawing room again. What startled her was the thought of the Earl of Northrive and the way he had attempted to comfort her. It had shown kindness, despite her ineptitude.
There was a sound nearby that prompted her to open her eyes. Rupert had jumped off the bed again and had something in his mouth.
“Rupert? Rupert?” she called to him. He lifted his head, with those wide innocent eyes turned up to her, as though he were doing nothing wrong. “What is that in your mouth?” she asked, hanging off the bed.
The dog whimpered before she held out her hand to him and he dutifully dropped some paper into her hand. “Ergh,” she groaned, “did you have to get your slobber all over it?” He barked once in answer to her. She chuckled, loving him despite it, petting his head one more time before she laid back on the bed and turned her attention to the paper.
It was a letter, sealed with red wax, the handwriting that spelt her name across the top unmistakably belonged to Victor. It seemed one of the maids had dropped the letter into Violette’s room that morning.
She tore open the letter, eagerly turning to her brother’s words.
Dear sister,
I am uncertain how to begin this letter. I rather feel that I should go on at length about how travel is never what we thought it would be, that the sailing takes far too long and the sights to see are not as beautiful as the books suggest. I know that hearing such things would probably soothe your heart a little, but it would be telling you lies to say such things.
Violette, I think I am in the happiest place in this world! I have already seen Paris and Monaco. This weekend, I am scheduled to cross into Spain too. What a world this is! The beauties are many, and each day brings something new and exciting. My only wish is that you could be here too. I know it would make you smile to see what I have seen.
In my next letter, I intend to send you some drawings of what I have seen. Maybe these will bring you some comfort and something to gaze at longingly like you do the paintings on your chamber walls.
Violette broke off from the letter just long enough to look up at the walls around her. There was a painting of Venice and the Bridge of Sighs, along with a second painting of the Piazza Duomo in Florence.
For now, I enclose just one drawing to whet your appetite a little.
In the meantime, tell me more of life back home. How goes your training for your debut? Have you upset Mrs Anderson enough yet to make her leave? When I last saw you walking across the drawing room with a book on your head, her words were so harsh, I would not have blamed you for snatching that book off your head and throwing it at her in despair! I do not know how you managed to keep your temper cool.
I can only imagine how Father’s insistence that you must marry has upset you. I do hope that when your debut comes, you find a gentleman whose company you can bear, as well as a man who will love you for who you are, rather than the façade Mrs Anderson wishes you to wear.
My only regret is that I will not be there to escort you to all the balls and assemblies, to make sure that any gentleman who gives you attention is worthy of your notice.
Write back to me soon. I have enclosed the next address of the lodgings where I will be in Spain.
Your loving brother,
Victor Blay
Violette lowered the letter to the bed and pulled out the second slip of parchment. It was a rather scruffy drawing that Victor had made of Paris. She chuckled as she looked at his poor skills, with the sketch labelled ‘view from my lodging windows’. Despite the poor skills, she could perfectly see the beauty of the view, with the aging buildings across the city and interspersed with trees.
She clambered off the bed, aware that Rupert followed her toward the edge of the room as she tacked it to her wall, beneath the paintings of Venice and Florence, adding to the view. Something inside her twanged with envy, wishing she could be in Victor’s place rather than her own.
There was a rather urgent tap at the door, imploring her to turn her head toward it and hurry to dry the tears upon her cheeks.
“Who is it?” she called.
“Violette, dear, it’s me,” her mother answered.
