At twenty minutes until six, the person staring back at her in the looking glass barely resembled the one who’d sat feeling sorry for herself all afternoon. Curling tendrils had been arranged to fall around her face and shoulders, the swelling was mostly gone from her eyes, and the pallor she expected wasn’t as noticeable with just the hint of rose dabbed onto her cheeks.
Violet smoothed the bodice of the gown, an off-the-shoulder design made up of a luxurious silk. “This seems more appropriate for a ball.” She bit her lip. “It’s almost indecent!”
“Precisely,” Diana quipped and then handed her a lace wrap.
“The carriage is waiting, and I don’t think this is a meeting you’ll want to be late for.” Bethany had changed into a different gown as well. She and Lady Tabetha would come along with her, but Chaswick had ordered his two younger sisters to stay home.
When Bethany had begun to argue on their behalf, her husband had leaned in and whispered something that effectively silenced her protests.
Protecting his innocent sisters from having to watch the devastation of Violet’s heartbreak, most likely—if that was how all of this played out in the end.
But Violet was not entirely without hope. When she felt that dread in her belly, or the urge to flee for Blossom Court, she reminded herself of Simon’s plea very early that morning—to trust him.
“I suppose I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.” Was one ever ready for something like this?
Bethany led Violet outside and all of them climbed into the carriage. At the very least, Violet wasn’t going to be left alone in the aftermath. She had friends, and that alone bolstered her courage.
The carriage jerked into motion, followed by Lord Chaswick and Mr. Spencer on horseback behind them.
“I feel like the guest of honor at a funeral procession,” she said.
“You do look rather like you’re going to your own execution.” Lady Tabetha pinched her lips together, but then laughed anyway. “We should have used more rouge.”
“Tabetha,” Bethany hushed her sister but then studied Violet. “Although you do look a tad pale. You aren’t going to be ill, are you?”
Violet shook her head. “One minute, my heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest, and the next, I forget to breathe. I do wish Chaswick could have just told me what he discovered.”
“It’s going to be fine.” But even Bethany was tapping her fingers against her thumbs at a frantic pace. The next time Violet glanced outside the window, the carriage was pulling up to the park.
And across the lawn, she could see the statue. The giant sculpture had been erected to honor Wellington and depicted a young man who was supposed to be Achilles. But although the resplendent figure had a sword and shield and a cloak draped over his shoulder, his only other covering was a fig leaf.
And standing at the foot of the monument was Simon, waiting for her.
“He’s here. He’s already here.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, her mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara.
The door swung open, and she was surprised to see Greystone, dressed to the nines and looking a little sheepish but also… proud?
“After all this is over, I’m going to owe you a Herculean apology.” His words ought to have sounded ominous, but they held more of a promise as he assisted her out of the coach. “But for now, trust that I wish you nothing but happiness, and no matter what you decide, I support you wholeheartedly.”
Violet stared over at her very handsome cousin, and then, nodding, took his arm. “I wish you all weren’t being so secretive.”
Greystone squeezed her hand. “You look beautiful, by the way.” He urged her around the horses in the direction of the statue.
At the edge of the clearing, Violet noticed that Greystone and Simon were not the only people who’d come. Lord and Lady Westerley were standing near two other coaches, and had been joined by Bethany and Chaswick, as well as Mr. Spencer and Lady Tabetha.
Violet swallowed hard, feeling, oddly enough, like a bride.
Thoughts such as that were bound to lead to disappointment. She shook her head and then stared at the ground.
“Breathe,” Greystone said from beside her.
Violet nodded, knowing they must be nearing the statue now. And when she could no longer help herself, she lifted her head.
And there he was.
Simon looked… magnificent. And although his jaw ticked, giving away some nervousness, he looked perfectly comfortable wearing a fine linen shirt, expertly tied cravat, black coat, and an evergreen waistcoat. She noticed that his tan breeches were tucked neatly into a shining pair of Hessians.
Her butler, she decided, might just as well be a prince.
