“Excuse me.” Violet stopped her. “Do you know where I might find Mr. Cockfield?”
The harried-looking young woman shook her head. “He isn’t here tonight. Mr. Sterling is filling in for Mr. Cockfield this evening. I believe he’s assisting the footmen with the champagne downstairs.”
“Mr. Sterling? The Duke of Blackheart’s butler?”
“Is he? I didn’t realize.” The maid flicked her gaze to the tray in her hands, laden with carefully arranged meats and cheeses. “Can I help you with anything else?”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. Thank you.” But in the wake of the maid’s hasty rush to get on with her duties, Violet stood frozen in the center of the empty ballroom, confused, but also worried.
He isn’t here?
Where would Simon go on the evening of Greystone’s engagement ball?
Something must have happened to one of his sisters, or his brother. That would be the only reason he’d not perform his duties on such an important evening.
Because he hadn’t mentioned anything to her earlier. Did that mean he wasn’t going to come to her chamber later?
And then her heart stopped. What if he’d taken ill? Or he’d been in some sort of accident?
The maid came rushing back through, a stack of empty trays on her arms. And this time, she approached Violet without being asked. “Are you unwell, Miss Faraday? You’re as pale as a ghost.”
A ghost.
Violet licked her lips. “No, I’m fine. Er. Did Mr. Cockfield say why he was leaving?”
“Just that he had pressing matters. He promised to return once it was all over. I thought you would know.”
Violet straightened her shoulders. So he was safe at least, and apparently well. “Of course, he—I—Lord Greystone failed to mention it to me. I suppose.”
She then dipped her chin in thanks, and with a deep breath strode into the supper room where she joined her brother and Diana just in time for the toast.
And somehow, she made it through the remainder of the evening without giving any indication of what she was feeling.
She was English, after all. And that’s what the English did.
Doubting
Violet closed the door of her chamber behind her and glanced at the clock on the mantle.
It was nearly half-past three in the morning. Once supper had finished, Violet had danced, made small talk, and even managed to laugh a few times. There had even been brief instances when she had forgotten everything that happened in the garden.
She would have thought that once alone again in the privacy of her chamber, she would shatter into a thousand pieces. But she did not. All she felt was… nothing. She was, in fact, numb, perfectly, soothingly, numb.
Violet had realized that feigning enjoyment was a particular skill of hers. She did it so well, in fact, that she could almost fool herself.
Incredible that she could make herself believe something simply because she wanted it to be true.
With Posy, Christopher’s death…
And Simon?
A knock sounded and Violet’s heart, which had leapt, just as quickly fell when it was Gwen who appeared. “Let’s get you out of this gown.”
Violet nodded. Only a few hours ago, she’d donned this beautiful dress, excited and filled with anticipation for the evening—for Greystone and Diana but also at the prospect of Simon seeing her in it.
And she’d had romantic thoughts that later, it would be Simon who helped her out of it.
Gwen loosened the fastenings, helped Violet step out of it, and then draped the gown over the tall back of a chair. As the maid bustled about, Violet stood unmoving and stared at the dress, thinking the material looked tired and sad. She had chosen it to impress Simon, and he would not have even seen it had she not caught him in the foyer.
