And quite unexpectedly, the possibility of Christopher’s betrayal didn’t hurt quite as much.
She was not undesirable. She was not unworthy. Perhaps once and for all, she could put the past to rest.
“The young man, a lieutenant, said he saw him last spring, just after Easter,” Bethany said.
The words didn’t penetrate right away. But then Violet jerked her head back to stare at her friend. “As in the spring of 1828? But why wouldn’t he report it sooner?”
“He didn’t realize the significance until he saw the duke’s notice.”
“It cannot have been him. He cannot—” Violet shook her head. Christopher was dead. He had been dead for years.
Bethany squeezed Violet’s wrist. “Likely, you are right. But I wanted you to know that Coventry’s solicitors are looking into it. It would mean a great deal to the duke since he is the last of the line.”
“Because he’s lost his own sons.”
“Yes,” Bethany said. “Finding him alive would mean a great deal to the duke.”
“It’s wishful thinking, then,” Violet said. Yes. That was all it was.
Christopher was gone. Dead.
“Perhaps,” Bethany said. “But I thought you would want to know.”
“Yes.” Violet nodded, feeling as though a fog had fallen around her. “I appreciate that.”
“And you mustn’t get your hopes up.”
“No, I mustn’t get my hopes up.” What if he was alive? He couldn’t be.
The younger women returned, laden with napkins of scones and very small cups of what appeared to be tepid lemonade. “We brought these for you.”
“Thank you, Posy.” Perhaps the sugar and drink would help. Violet hadn’t eaten much over dinner since her stomach flipped each time Simon entered the dining room. Inevitably, their gazes would lock and without fail, excitement lurched, robbing her of her appetite.
The two of them hadn’t been alone together since the tour of Heart Place. If not for those secret knowing glances, she might have wondered if she’d imagined it.
Violet bit into the scone. It was dry but it was sweet. She followed it with a sip of her drink.
Christopher was gone. He was dead.
But Simon was here. And his affection, his desire for her was real—even if it was only temporary.
For the first time in nearly a decade, she believed in a little magic for herself.
“Simon?” Violet’s voice cut through the darkness at the same time Simon silently closed the door behind him.
“It’s me,” he reassured her right away. The hour was late, very, very late, but it was the first he’d been able to get away. And he had missed her.
But he’d also noticed the tight and distracted demeanor she’d had after returning from the recital. She had to have heard the same news he’d gotten wind of, and it had to have come as a shock.
She turned to the night table, and after a moment’s fumbling, lit a single taper.
Her eyes looked on him warmly in the soft glow of the flame. “You are… here?”
Simon swung a wooden chair from across the room, pulled it up to the bed, and sat down beside her. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted.
Her lips tilted up. “And were those thoughts proper ones?”
She was flirting with him.
