Violet fell back on her bed, willing herself to sleep again.
When Nicholas greeted her at the breakfast table the next morning, Violet could sense that something was off about him.He seemed a bit off—in the least not like the warm, loving version of him that had appeared in her dreams the night before.
A version that she found herself thinking of even now, the next morning.
Was it really too good to be true?
“Good morning,” she greeted, her voice carefully measured. “I hope that you had a good sleep.”
He nodded curtly and took his seat, his movements efficient, almost mechanical. It was not lost on her that he refused to even look in her direction.But he looked tired, as though he had not gotten any sleep at all.
“How is your injury now?” he asked in a detached voice.
“Oh, I seem to be healing rather quickly. It feels much better now,” she informed him. “Did you get any sleep?”
She expected him to be happy to hear that, but instead, he just frowned,and once again, he ignored the question about his own sleep.
“Make sure that you do not get yourself into a situation like that again,” he said instead.
Was he still angry at her? She felt a bit lost on how to continue.
“I… well, yes, I will be more careful from now on,” she nodded. But his words left her feeling strange. There was no warmth in them, and his concern, too, seemed more like offense.
“I will arrange for you to have proper riding lessons,” he announced. “Make sure that you attend them. I will inform the staff to account for them in your schedule.”
Lessons?“Nicholas, it was only a fall. I hardly require a lesson?—”
“It is not up for debate,” he cut her off, harshly.
Oh.So, he was not in a mood to negotiate at all.
The tension in the room thickened. Violet studied him, trying to decipher the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.
Whatwas going on with him this morning?
“You never answered my question about sleep,” she asked, now for the third time. “Is your mood foul because of it? The lack of sleep, I mean to say.”
He looked at her as though she had uttered something entirely ridiculous.
“Whether or not I got to sleep is inconsequential,” he said, “and frankly, I do not see the point in discussing it.”
“It was merely a polite inquiry,” she fought back. “You asked me about my injury, and I asked you about your sleep. I think it is fair for me to expect an answer.”
He began to shake his head, muttering something under his breath.
“I did not sleep last night,” he told her finally.
Somehow, the manner in which he admitted it made her soften up immediately.
“Then you should have opted to stay in bed for longer this morning,” she said.
He shrugged his shoulders, as though his own health was a secondary concern. They ate together in silence after that.
It was a long time before anyone broke that silence. Finally, Nicholas cleared his throat.
“If you are well enough to talk now, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”
She set down her teacup, her hands folding tightly in her lap. “What is it?”
