Ignoring her resolve, Violet glanced up from her yarn and needles.
“See if Cook has any of those raspberry biscuits, will you?” Greystone called out. Was her cousin smirking?
If he was, only she seemed to notice it. Even Mr. Cockfield went about his business without so much as that corner of his mouth twitching.
But as he turned to leave the room, his gaze landed on her. “Do you have any special requests, Miss Faraday?”
Why did he make that sound so very suggestive?
Violet’s imagination was getting out of hand.
“I’m fine, Mr. Cockfield.” She pinched her mouth shut. “But thank you.” And this time, the butler’s lip did twitch just so, as though he found considerable amusement in watching her squirm.
She was not squirming. Never in her life had she squirmed.
“You’re looking unusually pretty for tea, Posy,” Greys addressed their niece.
Aunt Iris settled herself in the tall wing-backed chair that she preferred.
Mr. Cockfield bowed to her aunt and then quietly left the room. Why was it that Violet’s gaze wasn’t the only one staring at the door after it closed behind him?
Violet stabbed the tip of her knitting needle through the next loop, determined to maintain her composure.
“Since no festivities are planned for tonight,” Posy announced, “Mr. Cockfield is driving me to Lady Isabella’s.” And before Violet could argue, she added, “He has errands to perform and says it’s just as easy for him to take me as ask Coachman John. Even you cannot argue against a visit with Lady Isabella. She’s invited me to view some of her paintings.”
“I didn’t realize you were interested in painting,” Greystone said.
“Oh, but I am.”
“Posy shows considerable talent,” Violet said.
“You ought to take her, Greys. Have you spoken with Lord Huntly yet?” At least Aunt Iris was showing some interest in Posy’s reputation. But…
“You wish to speak with Lord Huntly?” Violet glanced back and forth between her cousin and her aunt. “Do you intend to court Lady Isabella?”
“I’m considering it.” Greys turned to Posy. “Mr. Cockfield needn’t take you when I’m going there myself.”
“Excellent,” Aunt Iris announced. “I would join the two of you as well, but I promised Lady Sheffield I’d join her for dinner and cards.”
Posy frowned, and Greystone looked as though he was pondering one of the mathematical equations he enjoyed. Or was he pondering marriage? Violet remembered he’d danced with Lady Isabella on a few occasions, but she hadn’t noticed anything particularly… special between the two of them.
But if he was genuinely considering embarking on discussions with Lady Isabella’s father, pondering was a good thing. She’d hate to see her favorite cousin make a mistake when it came to selecting his wife.
“Do you fancy her then?” Violet asked just as the door opened and Mr. Cockfield, followed by a young and pretty maid carrying a second tray, entered quietly.
“I barely know the gel,” Greystone answered. “And I’m happy to keep it that way for now.”
Mr. Cockfield gestured for the maid to set her tray down, flicking a disparaging glance toward Greys. “There’s one gamble I’m not willing to take,” he said.
Aunt Iris shook her head at the butler’s audacity, and Greystone grimaced. “No one is asking you to.”
“It’s the way these things are done, Mr. Cockfield,” Aunt Iris explained with a tolerant smile dancing on her lips. “I’m certain you wouldn’t understand the nuances involved in an aristocratic marriage.”
Greystone caught his breath and then bent over in a fit of coughing.
“Can’t you speak with her father another time?” Posy piped up.
Mr. Cockfield handed his employer a glass of water, and Violet rose to serve the tea. She rather prided herself on fixing it precisely as everyone liked.
