The other’s light brown lashes swept rapidly. “Oh, yes. I’m perfectly fine—”
“Amelia! There you are.” Mr. Turbett came marching up. He was a tall, sparse man; during the party, Vi had observed that the merchant had a brusque and domineering manner, especially when it came to his daughter.
“What have I told you about wandering off without me?” he demanded.
Cowering, Miss Turbett whispered, “I’m sorry, Father. I… I was just…”
“She was just chatting with us,” Violet said brightly. “Good day, sir.”
“Turbett.” Carlisle inclined his head.
The merchant grudgingly bent at the waist. “My lord. Have you seen Mr. Murray?”
Carlisle’s jaw tautened. “My brother is around, I’m sure.”
Neatly done, Violet thought.
“But not where he’s supposed to be.” Turbett’s gaze narrowed. “I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him since yesterday afternoon.”
“Father, please—”
“Be quiet, Amelia.” Her father held up a hand to silence her. “Now, Carlisle, you and I had an understanding. I didn’t come all the way to this bloody house party to twiddle my thumbs. And now there’s the inconvenience of that woman’s accident. God knows how an acrobat managed to meet her maker tripping over something in the library.”
Violet exchanged a quick look with Carlisle. Apparently, Billings had made the announcement about Monique’s death, and he’d skimmed over the facts.
“Now we’re all stuck here until the matter is wrapped up, and I refuse to have that time be wasted. Mr. Murray had better pay his respects to my daughter soon, or our deal is off.” Turbett crossed his arms over his puny chest. “He’s not the only fish in the sea.”
A muffled sound of embarrassment escaped Miss Turbett. Violet’s heart went out to the other. Simultaneously, she noted the ominous ticking of the muscle in Carlisle’s jaw.
With an obvious force of will, he maintained his temper. “Wickham knows his duty. You may expect to see him soon.”
“I had better.” His message delivered, Turbett grabbed his daughter’s arm. “Come, Amelia. ’Tis time for our afternoon constitutional.”
The girl looked so miserable that Violet said impulsively, “I was wondering, Miss Turbett, if you’d care to join my sisters and me for, um, a game of cards some time?”
Miss Turbett blinked. “Oh. That’s nice of you—”
“My daughter doesn’t play games. She hasn’t time for frivolity. Good day.” Without another word, Turbett dragged his offspring away.
“He’s not a friendly chap, is he?” Violet muttered under her breath.
“To Turbett, friendliness is a waste of time.” Distaste was evident in Carlisle’s austere countenance.
Then why are you bullying Wick into marrying his daughter? Why are you using him to clean up the mess you made?
Confusing questions tangled in Vi’s brain. At the same time, weariness rolled over her like a fog. She wavered on her feet; Carlisle caught her.
“You haven’t slept all night. You must be exhausted.” He steered her the remaining distance to her room. “Time for a nap.”
She opened her mouth to argue that she wasn’t a child—and a yawn emerged instead. Crumpets, shewasdrowsy. “We have to talk. ’Bout Wick,” she mumbled.
“We will. After you’ve rested.”
“Promise?”
He nodded. “Now get inside, lass.”
She let him open the door for her, was halfway in when she turned around. “Carlisle?”
