“She’ll be breaking hearts left and right.” Greys sent the younger girl a warm grin.
“Quite right.” Exactly what Violet was hoping. Well, not the breaking of hearts part, but that Posy would have several suitable offers to choose from. “And for the record, we did, I’m quite certain, stop at every inn between here and Yorkshire.”
Her cousin laughed sympathetically, and Violet’s chest loosened at the sound.
Defying their aunt’s low expectations, Greystone had taken an active part in his duty as Posy’s legal guardian and made visiting his ward at Blossom Court at least twice a year a priority. And furthermore, he’d not once failed to respond to Violet’s letters when she’d sought his advice or opinion.
As cousins, she and Greys had spent a good deal of their childhoods together. And despite Violet living in Yorkshire and Greys spending most of his time in London, their shared history ensured a comfortable familiarity.
“Aunt Iris, you’re looking as handsome as ever.” Greystone offered his arm. “How is it that you appear younger than the last time I saw you?”
“Flatterer. You, on the other hand, are looking positively ancient—” Aunt Iris studied him critically, “—for an unmarried man, that is.”
“In that case, you’ll be happy to know that I’m of a mind to marry this spring.”
Violet’s brows shot up at hearing this. Nearly thirty, the Marquess of Greystone was one of London’s most sought-after bachelors. As such, details of his life—usually comments on his fashion sense—even made it up to Yorkshire, thanks to the Gazette and the dependability of the English mail.
But that he was considering marriage was news, indeed. “Who is this young woman who has done the impossible and caught your eye?”
Greystone glanced down the sidewalk. “Why don’t we all go inside and have this discussion once you’ve settled in—in the privacy of my drawing-room.” He grimaced. “Where not all of Mayfair is privy.”
Violet jumped when a hand landed on hers, which was gripping the handle of her small valise. She didn’t need to look up to know that it belonged to the insolent man who’d been hovering in the doorway.
“Allow me, Miss Faraday,” he said in a cultured voice, provoking a… fluttering in her belly.
She hadn’t eaten much before leaving the inn that morning. Tea—she would have some tea after washing up.
“Violet, this is Mr. Cockfield, my new butler.” Greys gestured, and she met the man’s gaze. His eyes were black—no, not black, but dark navy—midnight blue.
Violet gripped her bag more tightly than she had been before.
The man who was comforting the woman on Greystone’s front steps is the butler?
Did her cousin realize what sort of questionable activities his butler was up to?
“Miss Faraday?” The butler cocked a patient brow, apparently having remembered his duties.
“What happened to Mr. Tuppenwiser?” Violet asked, turning back to her cousin. She barely remembered the elderly fellow from when she’d visited in the past.
“Suffered a fall last winter. And, as he was nearing eight decades, when I offered him a small house near the ocean with a stipend, he accepted.
“He has retired?”
“It was high time. Lucky for me, Mr. Cockfield was available for hire.” Greystone seemed a tad overly enthusiastic about this fellow, and Violet slid the man a skeptical sideways glance.
And, of course, Mr. Cockfield was watching her. But this time when she met his gaze, he smiled graciously, all innocence.
If Greys approved of his butler, Violet grudgingly admitted to herself, then she must as well. Perhaps the little scene she’d witnessed a few moments ago was not as it appeared.
Although… what else could it be? Had this Mr. Cockfield fellow been paying a former employee her wages? Or perhaps the young woman was there to collect a charitable donation.
Neither of which explained him kissing the woman on the forehead—or that the woman had embraced him.
“Miss Faraday?” Mr. Cockfield’s voice sounded amused as he flicked a meaningful look at both of their hands still clutching her valise. While she’d been contemplating all the different explanations for what she’d seen, the others had entered Knight Hall, leaving her standing alone with her cousin’s butler.
She nodded with a jerk and relinquished the bag that contained her knitting. “Thank you.”
“I can show you to your chamber as well, since Mrs. Hambletone is seeing to your niece and aunt.” He gestured for Violet to precede him inside, and she did her best to ignore the prickly feeling on the back of her neck as she did so.
