“He isn’t like that,” Posy said, staring up at the ceiling.
More guilt. What sort of woman made such inappropriate suggestions to the gentleman that her own niece felt an affection for? But he was not a gentleman.
Violet clenched her teeth together. What kind? A woman who wished to protect her niece, that was who.
“Come sit here.” Violet gestured toward the chair in front of her vanity. “Let me repair your hair before we go down for tea.”
“It won’t stay up.” But Posy climbed off the bed and took her seat there anyway. “Why don’t you ever dance?”
Violet met Posy’s stare in the looking glass. “One must be asked first.”
“You’re never asked because you don’t smile at any of them. I imagine they’re afraid of you,” Posy said. “You do the opposite of everything you’ve told me.”
Violet had worn a few of her new gowns to the last few events, and then promptly found a seat safely tucked away behind the other mothers and chaperones.
Lords and ladies of the ton did not throw grand balls so that ladies of eight and twenty could be entertained. They wer for the debutantes. Violet had had her turn as the belle of the ball. She’d landed her fiancé long ago. It was the younger ladies’ turn to secure their happy ever afters.
“You might be asked if you stepped away from the old ladies you seem to prefer to keep company with.”
“They aren’t old ladies.”
“They are much older than you, Violet.”
Rather than belabor the point, Violet went to work corralling Posy’s hair into some semblance of a dignified style.
“Mr. Cockfield says I ought to cut it. He seems to think my hair is well-suited for the shorter styles that are becoming popular this spring.”
“Mr. Cockfield isn’t right about everything.” Blasted man. Violet stuck a pin into one curl, satisfied that it was staying, and then watched as one on the other side of Posy’s head fell out.
Perhaps he had a point. That was part of the trouble with him. It was very difficult to oppose a person who was right about everything.
Not everything. He was not right to think that he could run around with her niece without it harming Posy’s reputation.
She reminded herself of his fallibility as she followed Posy downstairs to the drawing-room because she was going to have to face him again. It was his duty to serve afternoon tea.
Perhaps if she could recall all the troubles he was making, she wouldn’t feel so flustered in his presence. The last thing she wanted was for either Greystone or Aunt Iris to suspect that she had improper ideas where the butler was concerned.
Violet smoothed her gown as they entered the drawing-room.
“Do stay seated, Greys. Isn’t aunt iris down yet? Should I go back up to help her?” Depending on their aunt’s arthritis, the woman was either stubbornly independent or ridiculously needy.
“She sent for Mr. Cockfield, and he went up a few moments ago,” Greys answered, looking dapper in a maroon velvet jacket and mauve satin waistcoat. “She’s quite taken with him.”
Aunt Iris wasn’t the only lady who was half-smitten with the butler. The thought was an irritating one that also sent heat flushing up her neck.
“Feeling all right, Violet?” Greys crossed one leg over the other.
“I’m fine.” She resisted the urge to press her hands to her cheeks. What must Mr. Cockfield think of all of them? Swooning in his presence, and herself, all but begging him to kiss her.
The idea she’d rashly come up with that afternoon was a horrible one. She needed to abandon it. Tell him she’d been joking. It was a mistake. She was a foolish, foolish woman.
The sounds of her aunt and the butler approach should not have caused her insides to jump the way they did. Rather than acknowledge his presence, Violet reached down and took up the knitting she kept in a basket beside her usual seat.
“Thank you, my dear Mr. Cockfield. I feel much safer descending the steps on the arm of a strong fellow such as yourself, rather than my wobbly little cane.”
Greystone met Violet’s gaze and grinned.
“My pleasure, my lady,” Mr. Cockfield answered. “I’ll return shortly with tea.”
