Arriving in London
“I remembered Knight Hall being much larger than this,” Lady Posy Marsden announced after stepping onto the pavement.
“You were only ten years old the last time you were here,” Miss Violet Faraday said. She herself had only come to London a few times in the years since her debut in 1821—nearly a decade ago—and she’d intentionally kept those visits short.
Exceedingly grateful to be at the end of their journey from Yorkshire to London, Violet assisted her aunt out of the ancient carriage and then twisted side to side, stretching and enjoying the open air. The drive had involved far more stops at inns than ought to have been necessary.
That was because dear Aunt Iris, who was nearing her eighth decade, had insisted she could endure no more than three hours of riding in the carriage per day, and since the vehicle belonged to her, as did the luggage coach that trailed behind them, Violet and Posy hadn’t any choice but to yield to the older woman’s wishes.
Which, of course, they would have done anyway.
Violet glanced around, surprised that none of her cousin’s servants had stepped outside upon their arrival. Although they’d arrived considerably later than intended, she had sent word last week to let her cousin’s housekeeper know.
Had the servants given up hope for their arrival altogether?
“Where the devil are Greystone’s manservants?” Aunt Iris groused, her lips pinched as she stared at the closed door. “I’ll not have my nephew taken advantage of by his staff if I’ve any say in the matter. He is a marquess.”
“Yes, he is, Aunt, and I’m sure he is not being taken advantage of by his servants.” Violet smiled weakly, already exhausted at the prospect of having to apologize for her aunt, who said precisely what she thought, while also keeping watch over Posy, who did precisely what she wanted. What with keeping these two out of trouble, the spring promised to be a trying one indeed. “Besides, Aunt, we are arriving nearly a fortnight later than we originally promised. You did not expect the household to keep watch at the windows for eleven days, did you?”
Just as Violet uttered the rhetorical question, she glanced up to see the door to Knight Hall open. A small, youngish-looking woman stood partially in the shadows inside—and that woman was embracing a gentleman.
Dressed in almost all black, he wore the apparel usually reserved for butlers—black tie, white waistcoat, black jacket, pristine white shirt, and dark gray trousers—no gloves. This man’s ebony hair, however, was far too unruly for any self-respecting manservant to consider proper. Even as she watched, an unruly lock fell along his jaw.
The gentleman was most definitely not Greystone.
Confused, Violet tipped her head back and studied the windows flanking the terraced facade of her cousin’s perfectly symmetrical four-story limestone manor. There was the same number of windows on each side, each decorated with the familiar arched headers and framed with molding that resembled Grecian columns.
Confident that this was, indeed, Knight Hall, Violet returned her attention to the couple standing at the threshold of the partially open door.
The man was of similar height and coloring to her cousin, the Marquess of Greystone, but the likeness ended there. Whereas Greystone was a proper and fashionable gentleman, this man wore his uniform with a casual nonchalance. He possessed more of an athletic, cat-like build—like one of those tigers she’d once seen at the Tower exhibition.
Violet looked on unashamedly as this… person standing in Greystone’s entrance dispatched what looked to be a purse filled with coin into the young woman’s hand and then squeezed her shoulder. Such a transaction could not be payment of wages as the girl was dressed too well to be a servant. Surely this gentleman wasn’t Greystone’s butler making such a spectacle on the front steps of Knight Hall?
The lady tucked the small drawstring purse into her reticule, and the man then leaned forward to press a kiss on the young woman’s forehead.
He lifted his gaze and pinned it on Violet. One corner of his mouth twitched. Was that a smirk?
Annoyance at his insolence rolled through her. Her irritation increased when he showed no inclination to hurry along with his business.
Without acknowledging Violet, her aunt, or her niece, the gentleman bid his lady visitor farewell, disappeared for a moment, and then returned to step outside, followed by a small army of uniformed manservants.
And strolling behind them was her cousin, dressed in an evergreen superfine jacket, olive waistcoat, and tan breeches.
“Aunt Iris! Either you were set upon by highwaymen, or you stopped at every inn between here and Blossom Court!” Greystone approached with the familiar cordial smile Violet associated with her childhood. He placed a kiss on their aunt’s cheek and turned to Posy. “Look at you, all grown up. What a breath of fresh air you’ll be to all those young bucks this spring.”
Posy wrinkled her nose but hugged Greystone back, her escaped curls bouncing. “I’m only here because Aunt Iris and Violet didn’t allow me a say in the matter.”
“My favorite cousin didn’t wish to visit me?” Greys feigned offense, laughter lurking in his gray eyes.
“I’m your only cousin, second cousin if accuracy matters. And I suppose visiting London is not all bad.” At nine and ten, Posy possessed the ability to act childish one moment, and the next behave like a woman older than her years. Violet was going to need to keep a close watch on her this Season. Aunt Iris took some interest in Posy’s upbringing but was far keener to insert herself into as many games of parquet as was humanly possible.
Greystone placed a kiss on Violet’s cheek. “Posy has all but denounced marriage,” Violet informed him. Although, a London Season was sure to turn this around. Ensuring Posy’s future was Violet’s priority—if not for Posy’s sake, then for Posy’s mother’s.
For Adelaide’s sake. The memory of Violet’s older sister never failed to sting—even after all these years.
Making up for their own mother’s lack of interest in parenting, Violet’s sister had stepped in and provided all the motherly care Violet had needed. Adelaide had been twelve years older than Violet, but they had been very close. And although Greys was Posy’s legal guardian, responsible for managing Posy’s financial affairs, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world for Violet to raise her sister’s daughter.
Taking over the care of Posy had somehow… saved Violet.
