“Of course, thank you, Madam,” Mr. Cockfield answered for Violet.
As quickly as the gaggle of dressmakers had appeared, they disappeared again, leaving Violet feeling awkward where she stood on the pedestal, but also afraid to move lest she jostle one of the pins and get a poke.
So instead, she stared at herself in the giant looking glass, trying to appear as though all of this was perfectly normal. Her flushed cheeks from all the fussing, however, gave away that it was not. She reached up to repair the tight coiffure she’d twisted her hair into earlier and caught Mr. Cockfield watching her in the reflection.
Although his long legs stretched in front of him, hands folded and resting on his abdomen, Violet sensed that he was alert to everything going on around them.
“I had no idea Greystone had such strong opinions regarding my wardrobe,” Violet murmured. She ought to have allowed for that, however, as Greys was somewhat obsessive regarding fashion in selecting his own apparel. Had her gowns been an embarrassment to him? That must be it, and she’d embarrassed Aunt Iris as well, and most likely Posy.
Violet cringed at the realization.
“Your cousin doesn’t, really.” The butler didn’t even blink.
Wait? What? “Are you saying that Lord Greystone doesn’t have strong opinions about my wardrobe? But—”
“It was not Lord Greystone who insisted you order new gowns.” His cocksure demeanor demonstrated that he experienced no regret confessing his falsehood. This man was utterly shameless.
“Don’t tell me this is because Aunt Iris—"
“No, although she’ll be pleased when they’re delivered.”
“Posy?”
He shook his head.
“Then why would you say such a thing?” she asked.
“Because you are cousin to a marquess and ought to dress the part.” His gaze stayed pinned to hers in the mirror. “And because you would not submit to a fitting otherwise.”
Violet blinked.
“You’ll find, Miss Faraday, that I am quite devoted to the well-being of my employer and his family—which includes you.”
“And you believe new gowns will affect my well-being?”
“Yes.”
That single word seemed to reach inside her chest and squeeze it.
“I—” Violet searched for something to say but came up empty. “I am fine. I look after my own well-being.”
But Mr. Cockfield, it seemed, had other ideas.
“Then there will be two of us.”
It was true that part of a butler’s duty was to put the needs of his employer above his own. It was why butlers never married or had children. They dedicated themselves to their careers in exchange for spending their lives in a beautiful home with an abundance of security.
Mr. Cockfield, however, was going about it all wrong.
He was right in that she ought to have ordered new dresses for herself at the onset of the Season. Her cousin was not just any marquess, either, but the Marquess of Greystone, for heaven’s sake. She’d been so concerned about Posy’s success that she’d failed to consider the image she presented.
And this dratted manservant was also correct about amber tones. They did absolutely nothing for her complexion. When had she stopped caring about those sorts of things?
He cocked a single brow. “You need someone to shove you back into the world, Miss Faraday. You’ve been hiding, and I consider that a damnable shame.”
Miss Faraday stared back at Simon for all of twenty seconds before visibly rallying her composure and twisting her mouth into a scowl. He was becoming quite familiar with that particular expression on her, where she lowered her brows and pursed her rosy lips just so...
“I’ll ask that you watch your language, sir.”
