Even Leopold gave in to a reluctant grin. “Maybe we can make most of the situation. With the Duke gone, perhaps you can let us be privy to where he keeps the estate’s best brandy. If not, I might be forced to snoop around myself.”
“Leopold,” Arabella scolded lightly.
Violet managed a small laugh, grateful for the shift in tone. “I can have the staff arrange for a glass for you.”
Jasper—who had been watching her carefully—stepped closer to Violet. “Do not think that I will let this matter ago so easily, but I’ll allow myself to be distracted—for now.”
Arabella linked her arm with Violet’s and began leading her toward the drawing room. “Let’s sit and have some tea,” she suggested warmly.
She squeezed her mother’s hand back, grateful for the love that surrounded her, even as questions about her marriage lingered in the corners of her mind.
For now, she let herself enjoy the distraction, knowing that the weight of her troubles would return soon enough.
CHAPTER 23
Nicholas had fled to his lakeside cottage. It had been days since he had left the estate and shut himself in these four walls.
A bottle of brandy lay on the table before him. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled deep in his chest. Papers were strewn across the desk—half-finished letters, estate accounts—distractions he’d sought and failed to immerse himself in. Instead, he was consumed by a single, unwelcome thought.
Violet.
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since he’d left.
It is for the best,he reminded himself. But his isolation had been maddening. So much so that his resolve had broken this morning, and he had written to Ambrose to pay him a visit.
Was this what it meant to feel things deeply?
The irony of it all was not lost on him. He had spent his entire life perfecting the art of detachment, ensuring that no one ever got close enough to hurt him. But Violet had evokedexactlythe feeling inside of him that he had spent his entire life running away from.
A sharp knock interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
“Come in,” he called, his voice rough.
The door creaked open, and Nicholas didn’t bother looking up. He knew who it was. Ambrose strolled in moments later,his gaze sweeping over Nicholas’ disheveled appearance.
“Well, don’t you look like the picture of health,” Ambrose said, closing the door behind him. “I’d ask if you’ve been well, but the answer is written all over your face.”
“Good to see you, too,” Nicholas replied, dryly.
“Have you been hiding out here like some recluse?” Ambrose questioned, sounding alarmed. “You look as though you have not changed or eaten for days.”
Nicholas furnished himself a glass of brandy and then poured one for his friend. “I thought it would be nice to have some company.”
“Clearly. You look as though you are in dire need of it.” Ambrose took a seat beside him.
“Aren’t you terribly bright?” Nicholas said.
Ambrose arched an eyebrow at him, unfazed. “I am, thank you for noticing. Did you call me here to snap at me?”
Nicholas felt immediately guilty. “I did not mean to,” he sighed.
“Well, it is clear that you’re not in the highest of spirits. I was surprised when you asked me to visit you here. Why is it that you’re not at the estate?” Ambrose’s tone betrayed his curiosity.
Nicholas shrugged. “I thought it would be good to come out here to enjoy some time alone. It has been a while since I have gotten the chance to do so.”
Ambrose did not look convinced in the slightest. “Solitude, I could understand. But this?” He gestured vaguely at Nicholas—his unkempt appearance, the shadows under his eyes, the glass in his hand that was likely not his first. “This looks less like solitude and more like self-inflicted exile.”
“I did not call you here to play detective, Ambrose,” Nicholas said, rolling his eyes. “I merely thought it would be a good idea to have some company.”
