So, once Violet had taken a few deep breaths, putting all thoughts of her dead fiancé’s family behind her, she poked her head into Posy’s room as well.
And found her niece only half-dressed.
“But I’ve already attended a garden party today. Why must I go this evening as well? You know I’m not interested in any of these gentlemen here. I do wish someone would listen to me—other than Mr. Cockfield, that is!”
Violet ignored such foolishness. “We only want the best for you.”
“But you don’t understand! No one does.” Posy waved her hands in the air.
Her niece might think she wanted to play coy now, but the bloom of youth didn’t last long, and before she realized it, Posy might find herself forgotten and on the shelf. Violet rubbed her forehead. How many times had she explained this?
“But we’ve promised to be there.” Violet would try a different tactic. “Chaswick’s sisters, I’m sure, will be rather disappointed if you cry off.”
“I do enjoy their company,” Posy admitted. “Almost as much as I enjoy going about with Mr. Cockfield. He’s a very interesting person. Far more interesting than the dandies in society.”
Violet experienced a twinge of guilt that she too, found Greystone’s butler more interesting than anyone she’d met amongst the ton so far this Season, but that was beside the point.
Posy was an innocent debutante, and Violet… was not.
Dismissing the possibility that she was being hypocritical, Violet asked Gwen to fetch Posy’s slippers and wrap, and after extracting Posy’s promise to bring herself downstairs without any further delays, walked slowly to the drawing room.
What was Mr. Cockfield doing now? Likely, after spending the afternoon with her, away from Knight Hall, he’d returned to find a good deal of work awaiting him.
Did he regret spending his afternoon with a lonely spinster?
Did he consider her a tease for allowing him to kiss her? Or worse? He’d told her he’d enjoyed himself immensely. Had he simply been being kind?
Her heart had raced when she’d been studying his palm.
Because nothing about his reading would have her believing he was a servant. His hands had been warm, strong, and… the lines had suggested he was a man of great power.
She smiled sadly. Sometimes she imagined reading palms had the potential to offer valuable insight. But then she’d see or perform a reading that proved it was fake—it was only a game.
Especially when her own life line indicated a long and happy marriage.
“There you are, Violet,” Greystone greeted her when she stepped through the double doors of the familiar drawing room. As usual, he had dressed spectacularly for the evening and would outshine possibly everyone there. “How was your afternoon?”
“Very nice,” she began hesitantly as she took her usual seat and picked up her knitting. Best not to dissemble, as Aunt Iris already knew she’d gone somewhere with the butler.
“Did you stay in?”
“No. Mr. Cockfield… escorted me to… a few shops.” The two of them really ought to have come up with some sort of story so that they didn’t end up contradicting one another.
“So, you are feeling well?”
“I am.”
“Excellent.” Her cousin seemed somewhat distracted, which reminded her…
“Are you aware that Lady Isabella and her parents are attending Chaswick’s dinner?” she asked. It was quite possible for her aunt to have exaggerated the details of such a significant life decision to her liking.
Greys didn’t answer right away, and when he did finally turn away from the window, he asked, “How did you come by this information?”
“Aunt Iris. She told Lady Chaswick last week that you would be grateful for it.” Violet explained, partially defending her aunt, who, although bossy and difficult at times, in the end always supported her.
“I wish she hadn’t,” Greystone muttered.
“I assured our aunt that you did not require her assistance. I told her you were a grown man who would court the lady of your choice when you saw fit. But you know as well as I that she is not going to listen to me.”
