“While I thank you for the opportunity”—Ami picked up her brush and waved it—“I’m afraid I have work to do.”
“Pooh. You are as bad as Edmund and my father. They have been closeted away since that journalist left this morning. They even had their lunch served in the study, leaving me alone with Mr. Fletcher. Odious man, if you ask me.” Violet sighed, her eyes betraying a hint of weariness beneath her bravado. “I am bored, Miss Dalton. I crave a diversion. It seems the men in my life always find solace in their studies, leaving me on my own. Sometimes I wonder if there’s more to life than waiting for a man to take notice of me.”
A pang of empathy tightened Ami’s stomach. The sentiment of being overlooked and confined within societal expectations resonated with her own struggles in the realm of academia.
Violet tucked away her bit of lace, revealing a pouty frown. “Besides, you need some fresh air. Your skin is as dull as one of your relics.”
Ami clenched her jaw. Did this woman have any idea how abrasive she was? “Mr. Price hired me to catalogue these items, not frolic about in his garden.”
“Don’t be silly.” She cut her hand through the air. “My Edmund wouldn’t mind a whit.”
And there it was again.My Edmund. Perhaps she ought to take a turn with the woman if only to find out the status of Violet’s relationship with the enigmatic Mr. Price. Besides, a few minutes in the sun would be a welcome reprieve after a full day of bending over artifacts. Surely she could tolerate Violet’s barbs for that long.
“Very well, Miss Woolsey. I suppose a brief stroll won’t hurt.”
She barely got to her feet before Violet linked arms with her and ushered her out the door. “Now, I simply must tell you about Lady Quilling’s gown at the Evensons’ ball. It was positively scandalous! I’ve never seen a neckline so low, practically to her waist, and if that weren’t enough to draw attention, the overuse of sequins blinded one when the light hit just right. Such a Jezebel. Why, I hear she and Mr.—”
Violet droned on as they entered the garden, hardly drawing breath between sentences. My. She really had been in need of a diversion. Unbidden, a small amount of sympathy for the woman blossomed in Ami’s heart. Did Violet have any friends, anytruefriends? Not that she had an entire stable of confidants herself, but she did have Polly.
Sidestepping an uneven cobble, Ami glanced around for Phineas. He really ought to replace that paving brick, though if he caught sight of them, he just might ask her and Violet to help him do so. An impish smile curved her lips at the thought of the dainty Miss Woolsey in her blush-pink day dress digging about in the dirt to reset a stone. It might do her some good, though, give her a sense of accomplishment other than having her hair curled to perfection.
“Don’t you think, Miss Dalton?”
“Hmm?” She jerked her gaze to Violet, scrambling to answer a question for which she had no context. Violet gazed back,clearly waiting for a response. She couldn’t very well admit she hadn’t been listening, though, for the woman would take offense. She smiled and gave the best reply she could think of. “Yes, of course you must be right.”
Violet gasped, a horrified pinch to her brows. “I should certainly hope not!”
Bosh.
Wrong answer.
Unwinding her arm from Violet’s, she flung out her hand to the nearby rosebushes, quickly changing the subject. “Are these not divine, Miss Woolsey? There is no fairer flower than a Baroness Rothschild. I believe that’s what these are, if my memory serves correctly. My mother was quite the horticulturalist.”
Violet lifted her pert nose as she regathered Ami’s arm and charged ahead. “Roses make me sneeze. I shall see them all ripped out once I am the lady of this grand house.”
Ami schooled her face to keep her brows from lifting to the sky. “And when might that happy occasion be?”
“I am planning a Christmas wedding. White velvet for me to showcase my radiance and, hmm ... I think a dove grey for Edmund would bring out the blue in his eyes. They’re such a murky colour as is.”
Murkywas hardly the word she’d use to describe his eyes. More like the hue just before twilight, a deep azure, one that hinted of sweet dreams and kisses in the dark. Her face heated at the thought. If this woman really was to marry Mr. Price, Ami had no right to imagine such things. “I didn’t realize congratulations were in order. How long have you and Mr. Price been engaged?”
“We’re not. Officially, that is.” Violet followed the curve of a low daisy hedge, clutching her hem up from a pile of forgotten trimmings. “But it shouldn’t be long now. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised at all if that’s what Papa and Edmund are discussing this very minute.”
Hmm. Were they? She hadn’t seen any evidence that Mr. Price doted on the woman. Then again, what did she know ofupper-class relationships? Maybe outward signs of affection were frowned upon as a societal faux pas ... though Ami could’ve sworn she’d seen admiration flare in his gaze several times when he’d looked upon herself.
“At any rate,” Violet continued, “it must be soon if Mother and I are to make my wedding the event of the season. Mother won’t return from France until the first of October. But not to worry, she is a veritable Renoir of party planning. Society will speak of this event for years to come.”
That sounded like a nightmare to her, and though she’d only known him a little while, she had a feeling Mr. Price would agree. “Don’t you think Mr. Price ought to have a say in the matter? After all, it’s his wedding too.”
Violet trilled a laugh, startling a nearby robin to take flight. “Such naïvety, though I suppose you cannot be blamed for it. You see, my dear, a groom on a wedding day is an accoutrement to the bride, nothing more, nothing less. I have no doubt Edmund shall play his part with style, for he loves me dearly. Tell me, Miss Dalton.” She paused, facing her with a tilt to her head. “Have you ever been in love?”
Ami chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking hard. There had been Peter, but they’d both been hardly more than children at the time. He’d held her hand once, and even picked a periwinkle to tuck behind her ear. It might have worked out with him had he not joined the navy. But that was years ago, and truthfully, she’d not thought of him since ... unlike the dark-haired Mr. Price who’d set up camp in a corner of her mind.
A corner she visited far too often.
“Yes, actually. I happen to be in love right now.” She gave Violet a tight smile. “I love my work, Miss Woolsey.”
“Well, I suppose that explains it, then.”
