Her heart squeezed at the possibility of returning to Knight Hall and discovering Simon gone. But if Chaswick could find the truth for her, at least she would have that.
And then she would return to Blossom Court early. Her only regret would be missing Greystone and Diana’s wedding.
She would live out her life with only half a heart. Because losing Simon was going to be so much more painful than losing Christopher.
Because the love she had for Simon was bigger than herself. She was simply going to have to find herself again. And she would.
She stared down at one of her palms. There was a profound affection crease at the end of her heart line, which meant she would have a deep, lifelong love—most likely marriage. She’d read the lines a million times, hoping for the impossible.
Greystone deserved a happily ever after. Posy deserved one. As did the ladies seated around her.
Violet exhaled. But so do I.
We just don’t always get what we deserve.
“The details are quite simple.” Violet narrated her story as concisely as possible. “I realize it isn’t at all proper, for a lady to attach her affections to a servant—to the butler.” By now, she’d been through two handkerchiefs—her own, and one that Diana had handed her. “But I do love him. And I wouldn’t have cared what people said about that.”
“Well.” Lord Chaswick swallowed hard and finally rose. “I find that rather admirable.”
“As do we,” Bethany added. “Will you go now, Chaswick? Will you speak to them?”
“I will.” And then he turned back to Violet. “But promise me one thing, Miss Faraday?”
“I suppose that depends,” she answered, hating to sound ungrateful.
“Wise woman.” And then he grew serious again. “Don’t make any decisions, don’t go anywhere, and for God’s sake, stay away from Lord Captain Thompson until after I’ve returned. Can you do that?”
“I’ve no interest in Captain Thompson,” she answered.
“So you’ll be here when I return?”
“I will.”
She would not run away even though her feet were itching to do just that. She would wait.
She would see this through.
“May I remind you of the terms of our bet?” Greystone poured scotch into two tumblers. “If you forfeit, I win the dubious distinction of selecting your future duchess. My choice, of course, is Violet.”
They had been over this numerous times. Simon rubbed the back of his neck. After instructing the underbutler to step into Simon’s duties for the day, Simon and Greystone had been locked in disagreement for what felt like hours now. Failing to arrive at any sort of resolution, Greystone brought out a decanter of scotch. “Violet says tea fixes all of life’s troubles, but I respectfully disagree.”
“Indeed.” Simon accepted the glass gratefully. But did he? Agree, that was? Because he’d much prefer to be taking tea with Violet that afternoon rather than belaboring the details of this ridiculous but binding wager.
“Would it make a difference to know I would have chosen Violet for you to marry even if you hadn’t ruined her?”
“She isn’t ruined. And I’m going to marry her regardless.” Simon placed his empty glass on the table beside him. “But a lost wager is not going to have any part in my decision to marry. Violet deserves better than that.”
If she’ll have me.
“Then let’s play a game of vingt-et-un. You win, and you’ve fulfilled the terms of the bet. I win and…?”
“No.”
No more bets with Greystone.
The door to the study swung open and Chaswick, Westerley, and Spencer entered without ceremony.
Westerley shifted a suspicious glance between them, Spencer crossed his arms, and Chaswick… all but glared at Simon.
