chapter 8
Violet.”
I admit I was too afraid to open my eyes. At least that awful grating sound had died away.
“Vi! You’re pale as a ghost!”
He had no idea.
“Violet, for God’s sake, open your eyes.”
Colin sounded worried, sharp. He was a little watery around the edges when I looked at him, wavering faintly before returning to reassuring solidity.
“What the bloody hell happened?”
“I …” I had to struggle to find my breath. He crouched down in front of me, blissfully alone. No pale face loomed behind his shoulder or whispered in his ear. I was so grateful for it that I clasped his hand. He looked briefly startled before returning the light squeeze. “I wasn’t feeling quite right.”
“Evidently.”
“Did anyone else notice?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so. You just looked frightened, like you were going to swoon.”
“I never swoon,” I quipped back at him.
“It’s what I like best about you.”
“How very flattering.”
He went serious for a moment. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No! No, I feel better already. Must have been the excitement.”
He didn’t look particularly convinced. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
I tried for a breezy smile, getting to my feet and putting my dress back to rights.
“Maybe you should lie down,” he added.
I made a face. “And miss the ball? Mother would be as furious as a bag of wet monkeys.” Actually, I had no idea if wet monkeys were known for their particular anger.
Colin’s eyes seemed to close, like shutters over a window. “You’d better get back then,” he said sarcastically, “and trap your prince.”
I narrowed my gaze at him. “Stop calling him that. He’s a perfectly nice gentleman.”
“So his mama liked you well enough then? Isn’t that fortunate? And how long do you think he would have paid you compliments if his mother disapproved?”
I scowled. “I can’t keep up with your moods, Colin Lennox. You’re either kissing me or snapping at me. I wish you’d make up your bloody mind.”
I stomped off, back to the ballroom. The music was softer now, slower. It took every ounce of courage in my possession to step through the doorway. I let out a sigh when it appeared that no one spared me much of a glance. And they seemed quite alone, dancing as one did at a ball, quite unshadowed by spirits—which meant I could go back to being a girl at her first fancy ball. And though it was tempting, I managed not to shove anyone out of my way in my haste to find Elizabeth. I could just imagine the reaction if I’d knocked some old widow with pearls in her hair into the punch bowl.
I finally found Elizabeth on the edge of the dance floor, near her mother, who was whispering feverishly behind her hand to a woman dripping diamonds. My lower back was still damp with perspiration. I hoped it wouldn’t mark the silk. Elizabeth was very pretty in a plum gown with lilac satin trim. She wore a lovely necklace of amethyst and pearl loops. My own neck was bare. I hadn’t anything appropriate for a fancy-dress ball, only a simple cameo brooch an admirer had once given my mother. She’d grown tired of it and now it was mine.
I tried to ignore the glances thrown my way as I moved through the crowd. I ought not to be unaccompanied, but I’d slipped out before Mother could notice. She’d been drinking her “medicinal” tea all afternoon, and I had no wish to catch her attention.
“Violet!” Elizabeth clasped my hands. “Oh, thank God. I was beginning to feel like a veritable ninny standing here alone all this time, and Mother wouldn’t let me wander, not even for lemonade. Where have you been?” She blinked. “You’re rather pale.”
“I’m sure it’s the excitement, nothing more.” I smiled weakly, determined to enjoy the night and pretend I was like any other sixteen-year-old girl, one who didn’t see spirits or dead girls dripping onto the carpet.
“Well, you look lovely, anyway,” she added. “Xavier won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”
We waited until the music had faded and started up again before Elizabeth took my arm. “Mother, we’re going for a turn about the room.”
Lady Ashford nodded, engrossed in some tidbit of gossip we weren’t allowed to hear. We circled the dancing couples, admiring handsome sideburns and pretty tucked flounces. We stopped several times so that Elizabeth could murmur politely to her mother’s friends, and once for Tabitha’s uncle, Sir Wentworth, with his bushy sideburns and rotund belly, to tweak her cheek and slip her a piece of chocolate wrapped in gold foil. Apparently he had been doing that since she was a child.
Elizabeth sighed in that way I knew all too well. “Do you suppose Frederic will ask me to dance?”
I followed her gaze to where he was laughing with several friends over glasses of port. It wouldn’t be long before they escaped to the gaming halls. Most young men of his age considered these balls to be tiresome affairs, forever being forced into asking wealthy single girls to dance, regardless of whether or not they had horse teeth or fainted at the sight of a moth. It was worse for the debutantes: they had to dance with wealthy old men who smelled like stewed onions and stepped on their toes. I didn’t think Frederic noticed us, even when we wandered with excruciating slowness past him, lingering practically under his nose.
“Elizabeth,” I whispered. “A lame donkey could walk faster than this.”
She tried not to laugh and ended up snorting instead. “Shh,” she added. We giggled and continued to make the circuit of the room. I’d never seen so many beautiful gowns in my life, or so many jewels. Everything sparkled. We accepted crystal cups of cherryade from a passing footman.
“Can you imagine? Wearing that color at her age?” We heard a woman sniff disapprovingly. She was regal in a silvery gray gown with several ruffles and flounces. Her companion wore green silk and an equally disgusted expression. The crowd parted, allowing us a view of the woman in question.
My mother.
She wore pink, from her bustle to her square rose-trimmed neckline, with darker pink for an underskirt. It was silk and she all but shimmered in it. Her dark hair was coiled on top, with long ringlets down her back. She wore garnets at her throat and was surrounded with younger men, all no doubt lavishing her with praise.
It wasn’t that she didn’t look very becoming in the pink dress. I’d rarely seen another color do more for her complexion, but that shade of candy pink was generally reserved for younger girls. Mother always wanted to appear much younger than she was. She was never happier than when some handsome lord mistook her for my older sister. And it was quite a dramatic departure from her widow’s weeds.
“Shameful,” said the lady in green silk. “And she’s a widow, is she not?”
“She’s worn the black for years, as I hear it. Except for formal balls.”
“A lady of good breeding would know better. Honestly, what can Lord Jasper be thinking, parading his mistress about like that? As if we’d believe she’s just some Spiritualist he’s taken a scientific interest in.”
She tittered. I’d never actually heard someone titter before. Beside me, Elizabeth winced.
“He’s lonely, poor old thing.”
“And rich enough not to care what the rest of us think,” came the dry reply.
They laughed together while I stood, rooted to the floor. Mother laughed as well, and it was like silver bells, but too loud. Her cheeks were flushed. I knew, even from this distance, that the sherry she’d been drinking all day had been followed by several glasses of fine champagne.
“Never mind them,” Elizabeth said. “You know how people get. They’re just jealous that they already look like wrinkled old prunes.”
I just nodded, feeling even more awful because I agreed with what they’d said about my mother. She always behaved this way when there were wealthy men around, whatever their age. The man smiling at her just now was barely older than I was, which didn’t seem to bother her one whit. She glanced at him through her lashes. For all that she craved respectability, Mother was a consummate flirt. Even though I knew it would do no good, I went over to her.
“Mother.”
She pouted. She didn’t want me to remind her admirers of her age.
“Impossible!” one of them cried out. “You couldn’t have a grown daughter.”
She smiled demurely and tapped his chest with the tip of her folded fan. “You flatter me, sir.”
“And such a beautiful daughter,” Lord Marshall murmured. I shifted uncomfortably.
“Mother, perhaps one of these gentlemen could fetch you some lemonade. You must be thirsty.”
She just giggled. “I don’t want lemonade,” she said. “But a kiss to the first one to bring me champagne.”
Half a dozen men trampled off like wild buffalo. There were squeaks of protest from women who didn’t flirt nearly as well as my mother and therefore had to all but leap out of the way. Lord Marshall remained at her side, kissing the palm of her hand in a most indiscrete manner.
“Mother,” I groaned, mortified. She shot me a look that made me fall back a step.
“Don’t be tiresome, Violet. I knew you were too young yet to attend a ball. I should send you to your room.”
I bit back tears even though I wasn’t sure why they stung my eyes. She’d certainly said worse to me. It was just something about the way she’d looked at me. If I hadn’t known better, if she hadn’t been my own mother, I would have thought I’d seen resentment, even a touch of hatred. I didn’t know what to do.
“Come on, Vi,” Elizabeth whispered. “Let’s take another turn.”
“Yes, do run along, children,” Lord Marshall murmured.
Mother giggled again, and Elizabeth and I left to stroll the circuit, arm in arm. Suddenly the ball was less exciting, less magical.
“Excuse me,” I said, when we passed the double doors to the hall.
Elizabeth looked concerned. “Shall I come with you?”
“I’m fine, only a little overheated.” I forced a smile for her benefit. She didn’t believe me, of course, but she didn’t follow me.
The hall was deserted and it was a relief to leave behind the hot, scented air of the ballroom. I wandered down toward the conservatory, pausing to admire a massive bronze urn on a marble table. It was large enough to house what looked like an entire rosebush, with space left for peacock feathers, fern fronds, and stalks of white lilies. I circled it, using its bulk to conceal myself—but only for a moment. I wouldn’t give either my mother or the other ladies the satisfaction of running away to hide in my room. I’d be perfectly fine in a moment. My throat felt less constricted already. And if my mother wasn’t going to be embarrassed about her own behavior, why should I? If nothing else, I had to keep her away from Mrs. Trethewey.
I lifted my chin and prepared to pretend I was a sheltered girl without a clue as to what was going on. I was determined to salvage what was left of the evening. Even muffled through the closed doors, the music was beautiful, haunting.
And then all I knew was the sound of bronze against marble, an odd screeching scrape, and the shadow of the urn toppling toward me. I stared at it uncomprehending, even as a small part of me realized I was about to be crushed. I didn’t have time to decide whether I should steel myself for impact or try to leap to safety.
The decision was made for me. A hand closed over my arm, digging painfully as it yanked me out of the way. The urn tipped to the floor with a resounding crash, spilling water and lily petals. My breath was still caught in my throat, like a lump of dry bread, when I recognized the man towering over me.
“Have a care, Miss Willoughby,” he murmured, his silver cravat pin gleaming. I stumbled back out of his hold, trembling. I recognized the cravat pin from the gardens.
Several footmen raced toward us. “What happened? Are you hurt, miss?”
I shook my head, trying to find my voice. “The urn fell.”
“You ought to be more careful,” the man with the pin said to me in a way that made me think he was actually saying something else. In the shadows of the hallway, he looked gaunt. His suit may as well have hung on a scarecrow. He finally looked at one of the footmen. “This urn ought to be better secured. Lord Jasper will need to be informed. One would assume he doesn’t plan to have his guests flattened.” His gaze swung back to me. “Do you wish for us to summon your mother?”
“No!” I could just imagine her response should she be taken away from her admirers. “I’m perfectly well, thank you. My friend is waiting for me.” I swallowed, my heart still racing inside my chest. My corset felt tighter than usual. Even though he made me uncomfortable with his staring, he had saved me from injury. I curtsied. He bowed and left.
I stopped the footman. “Who was that man?” I asked him.
“Mr. Travis, miss. Right kind fellow he is too, but tormented. Paces the halls all night and doesn’t sleep.”
Mr. Travis.
I must have gone pale because the footman peered at me nervously. “Are you ill, miss?”
“No, just the shock, I expect.” I gave him a wobbly smile before fleeing into the safety of the ballroom. Inside the doors, Xavier stopped me before I could find Elizabeth and tell her I had found our Mr. Tra—, though I was no nearer to knowing what that actually meant. He was clearly up to something; men didn’t lurk about gardens in the middle of the night or pace endlessly for the good of their health. And he stared a lot.
But he had saved me just now.
“Good evening, Miss Willoughby.” Xavier smelled of soap and cologne. He was safe, polite, and unlikely to push an urn on me. I felt my pulse return to normal.
“Miss Willoughby, would you do me the honor of this dance?” he asked as the strains of a waltz fell like soft rain around us. I took his arm and he led me out onto the dance floor. The evening might yet regain some of its luster. Xavier held me close enough that I could feel his breath on my hair. His hand was warm on my waist. I could forget about everything else and let him spin me in circles, the other dancers a blur of colors around us. It was like being caught in a kaleidoscope.
“I’ve never seen you more beautiful,” he said. He held me like I was delicate, made of porcelain and lace. I was neither of those things but I smiled nonetheless.
“Thank you.”
We danced until I felt flushed and nearly dizzy. When the music faded, Xavier bowed again and I curtsied. “Miss Willoughby, if I might be so bold as to ask you to accompany me into the gardens? The moon is quite lovely on the roses, or so I hear.”
I smiled, placing my hand on his forearm. Everyone knew couples stole away into the gardens at a ball to kiss. I widened my eyes at Elizabeth as we passed her. She muffled a giggle behind her glove. I hoped I wasn’t blushing.
The evening was warm with a bright moon pouring light like milk onto the trees and the flowers. The white roses glowed. Fireflies darted between the oak trees in the grove, barely visible. Couples meandered over the lawn, and a handful of gentlemen smoked cheroots and laughed in the corner of the veranda. Xavier and I walked along the flagstone path, and I trailed my fingers over the flowers, releasing the scent of petals and perfume.
“I think you must know, Miss Willoughby, that I admire you greatly.” I looked away, blushing for certain this time. “I hope you feel the same way I do.” He stopped and turned so that he was standing in front of me. His hair gleamed in the pale light. “When we return to the city, I should like to speak to your mother.”
My breath caught. He could only mean one thing by talking to my mother—he meant to offer marriage. Marriage to me, barely sixteen and not even out yet. My heart was beating erratically. Part of me was thrilled and flattered and eager to be out of my mother’s house. Another part of me was nervous and scared. What would happen if he ever found out about mother’s “gifts,” and my part of the deception? Would he ever forgive me? Would his parents and his friends snub me? And what would Colin say when he heard? Would he ever stop sneering when he said Xavier’s name? Or was he even now giggling with the dairy maid?
I wanted to wipe my damp palms on my skirt but I knew it would leave streaks on the silk. I should be ecstatic. And it wasn’t as if I had other options. We couldn’t carry on deceiving widows forever.
And a declaration of love in a moonlit garden was what all girls dreamed of, wasn’t it? I was just giddy with nerves was all, and tired. Between screeching ghosts and falling urns, it was no wonder I was having difficulty catching up. And besides, Mother would no doubt push for a long engagement. She would want to enjoy all of the benefits of a society nuptial while she could. I would have plenty of time to accustom myself.
Xavier must have misread my silence. He pressed my hand to his mouth. “Violet, if I may call you that?”
I nodded. If we were going to be married, I suppose I ought to allow him permission to use my first name.
“Violet, you are so lovely. I know we will suit. I just know it.”
He leaned down and kissed me then, pressing his mouth against mine. His hands cupped my shoulders, holding me upright as if he thought I might swoon. His lips were soft, warm. He pulled me closer as music from the ballroom coiled around us like mist, all harps and weeping violins.
And I wished I was the kind of girl to be swept away into the moment.