Violet instinctively raised the note to her nostrils and inhaled. The aroma was mostly that everyday parchment but when she concentrated, she caught a hint of leathery spice.
Of him.
My lover. Could she call him that when they hadn’t actually consummated their relationship?
She poured her tea and then added one sugar.
She’d had a fleeting glimpse of intimacy with Christopher, but it had just as quickly been jerked out of her grasp. And afterward, she did not believe she had imagined the distance between them.
She had not imagined his disappointment.
For months after his disappearance, she’d vacillated between feelings of fear, despair, and guilt. Without a body to bury, his mother and father had hoped it was a horrid mistake, that he was missing due to some clerical mix-up or held prisoner somewhere. Violet had begun to wonder the unthinkable—that he’d gone missing intentionally.
As had some unkind gossips.
Would the Duke of Coventry’s investigation dispel the rumors? Or substantiate them? She felt sorry for the duke, she did, but it wasn’t fair—that they would drag this up again.
The thought that Christopher might be alive was more possible than she cared to admit.
It would not be the first time he’d jumped into something he thought would be exciting and then discover he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He’d hated his father’s conservative ways and often rebelled against them—with his gambling—his drinking—racing his high-flyer to Brighton. He’d always risked more than everyone else, and she’d ignored the worry that niggled at her happiness. She’d refused to find fault with him. He was fun and exciting and almost heroic.
The day he’d engaged himself to Violet, he’d jokingly admitted that he only wished their parents didn’t approve. And in hindsight, Violet could almost believe not returning to London had been an act of rebellion.
“You’re awake!” Posy swept into Violet’s chamber without knocking. Violet was glad she’d tucked Simon’s envelope away when Posy lifted the lid on the pot of tea. “No chocolate? You really ought to take chocolate in the mornings, Aunt.”
“Let me ring for some.” Violet tugged the bell pull and went back to her own tea even though the contents had cooled. “You look bright and chipper this morning. Did you have a nice time last night?”
They’d attended a poetry reading recital, and the performers had been surprisingly good.
In answer, her niece scrunched up her nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored in all my life.” But then she just as quickly brightened again. “I’m going to go to Cedric’s Shop of Tomes with the Miss Joneses this afternoon. Lady Tabetha Spencer has volunteered to chaperone us.”
“Lady Tabetha isn’t much older than any of you, is she?”
“She is not.” Posy raised her brows. “But she is married and has all the freedoms of a married lady now. Which makes our outing perfectly respectable.”
Violet would normally have insisted on going along but quickly remembered she’d made other arrangements for her afternoon.
If nothing else came of all this business with Simon, at least she was keeping Posy from getting herself ruined with him. Violet, of course, no longer imagined anything untoward had ever occurred, but she was relieved not to have to worry about the appearance of such.
And Posy was right. Lady Tabetha’s husband was the second son to the eminently respectable Earl of Ravensdale. Her age oughtn’t matter.
“I rather enjoyed the performance,” Violet mumbled. The two of them used to be so close and suddenly it felt as though Violet was losing her. Gwen appeared in the open door. “Would you bring Lady Posy some chocolate, please?”
“No, never mind,” Posy contradicted Violet’s request. “I’ve letters to write before going out this afternoon.” She turned to Gwen. “Is my rose frock pressed? Miss Callum said it brought out the green flecks in my eyes. Did you realize I have green flecks?” She peered into the looking glass over Violet’s vanity.
“More in your left eye than your right,” Violet said. “Who is Miss Callum?”
“One of Madam Chantal’s seamstresses.” Posy made a face at herself.
“If you keep doing that with your nose, you’re going to have wrinkles before you’re five and twenty,” Violet said automatically, already knowing her advice was going to go unheeded.
Was this what it was like to be a mother? Never having been close to her own mother, Violet didn’t know.
And she didn’t like it.
She ought to be happy with Posy’s independence, and she was, she just wished matters were progressing in the manner she’d visualized.
“Here you two are.” Aunt Iris appeared in the door, already properly dressed with her usual jewels and elaborate coiffure. “Violet, you are coming with me to Lady Rockingham’s today, are you not? She’s asked me to head up the fundraiser gala for the newest foundling hospital. She’s also enlisted the help of the Duke of Blackheart’s daughter, Lady Lydia. Have you met her? So thoughtful and serious for such a young lady.” She sent a meaningful glance in Posy’s direction. “Unlike other young women.”
