Oh, dear.This was precisely what Viola feared.
She had to tell her father . . . now.
The sound of shears snipping hung in the room as she fought to suppress a wave of anxiety, her stomach quivering.
Glancing toward the open window, she took a few steps closer to her father.
“Papa,” Viola began, voice low to prevent the gardeners from overhearing. After all, gossiping tongues were everywhere when it came to herself and Ethan. “Though I do like Mr. Penn-Leith as a friend and fellow writer, I cannot say that I wish for a further measure of his regard.”
“Pardon?” Her father shut his book, angling his ear toward her.
Her father was not typically hard of hearing, but Violawasspeaking quietly. She took a step closer and sat in the wingback chair opposite her father. “I do not wish to marry Mr. Ethan Penn-Leith, Papa. His friendship is sufficient for me.”
This time, her father heard her clearly. His brows drew down as he absorbed the news.
The shears continued to snip away in the front garden. One of the gardeners called something to the other.
“I thought you liked Mr. Penn-Leith,” her father finally said. “Why have you not said anything before now?”
“I did like him. Or rather, I do . . .” Viola floundered, wondering how to explain. “I appreciate his companionship, but I do not wish for a greater measure of his regard. Friendship is sufficient for me.”
“I see.” Dr. Brodure set down his book, expression falling and abruptly appearing so . . . weary.
Viola leaned forward and took his worn hands in hers.
“I am sorry, Papa. I know we journeyed to Scotland specifically for this. Truly, I wanted to like Mr. Penn-Leith. But I find that my affections . . . they cannot be forced.”
Leaves rustled in the front garden. A lazy bumblebee bobbed past the open windows. The gardeners’ voices continued to rumble back and forth, the hiss of the scythe acting as punctuation.
“Does . . . does Mr. Penn-Leith know this?”
“No,” Viola said on a sigh. “But I must tell him. I simply need to find the appropriate words.”
“Yes. You do need to speak with him before his feelings grow any deeper.”
“I will,” she promised. “As soon as he returns from Aberdeen.”
And she would. She absolutely would.
“I want what is best for you, Viola. I always have.” Her father patted her hand. “But as your father, I must confess my worry, as well. Your determination to refuse Mr. Penn-Leith’s attentions will certainly raise Kendall’s displeasure. He could choose to harm your writing endeavors. You are a woman writing in a man’s world, after all.”
“Yes, I am well aware of that fact.”
“And so I would urge you to think carefully on this decision.”
“Ihave, Papa.” Viola’s voice rose. “I have known for weeks that I do not wish Mr. Penn-Leith as a suitor.”
Mr.EthanPenn-Leith, that was. Viola did not add that distinction.
“Though I do not wish for you to marry where you do not love, I also worry for your future, my child.” Dr. Brodure held up a conciliatory hand. “That Kendall will be punitive and, therefore, ensure your brilliant writing is not remembered for generations to come.”
“Idorecognize what you are saying, Papa.” She sat back in her chair. “But please put your mind at ease with regard to my ambition. I do not want to rule the literary elites in London or be lauded as another Shakespeare. I do not wish for greater renown or fortune—”
“Truly?” Her father frowned.
“Yes. Truly. I do not need fame—” She took a fortifying breath. “—but Idoneed to make a difference.” She continued on, forcing the words past her numb lips. “I know we have touched on this in the past, but Papa, I cannot write the moralizing tales that Kendall wishes me to write . . . nary a one.”
“Daughter, the duke has made his expectations clear.” Her father’s words reverberated with agitation. “I thoughtyouhad agreed to them, as well. You cannot renege on your promise. Kendall will retaliate in earnest if you do.”
