“Ah, here we are,” Lady Joanna announced as the carriage came to a stop on the dirt lane. “I’ll wander around the cemetery and see if I can still read any names and dates while you two view the ruins.”
“Were you really addressed by your initials?” Violet asked though not at all surprised that her grandmother would have the audacity to demand such.
Lord Ferrard chuckled. “Yes, we were.”
“Shall I refer to you as Lord F, then?” Why was she teasing him? She’d never teased anyone in her life, and if asked yesterday, Violet would have claimed that she didn’t even know how.
“You may call me whatever you wish.”
Goodness, for a moment, Violet wanted to find the most inappropriate endearment and begin addressing Lord Ferrard as such. What had happened to her?
First the oddest sensations in her being when in his presence and now she wasn’t even behaving as normal. Was it possible that in this courtship of convenience she’d actually gained a friend?
Violet would like to believe so since she could think of only one other person that she was as comfortable with, her dearest friend Silvia.
Odd that she’d feel as such for a gentleman whom she’d known such a short time, but Violet trusted him. There were ladies and misses that she’d met in London two years ago and she didn’t feel the same trust with them. She hoped that she and Lord Ferrard could remain friends after their courtship came to an end.
Ferrard stopped in front of the warped, dark rounded door. “Does this even open?”
“I’m not so certain that it’s safe inside.”
He then stepped to the arched window surrounded by dark stone. “I’m not certain anyone has been in there in decades.”
Violet joined him and looked into the ancient chapel. The benches where parishioners had once sat were broken and warped from being exposed to the elements. Above, nests had been built in what was left of the rafters along the roof edge, still protected from the elements, waiting for birds to return in the spring. Along the cracks in the stone floor, weeds had grown but were long dead given the winter.
“It seems as if nature is trying to claim the building,” he murmured.
The ancient building was nearly covered in vines and ivy that had climbed the sides of the stone. Grass grew without interruption through the churchyard, dead now, but would return come spring and probably be dotted with wildflowers in the lush green. She’d forgotten how peaceful and lovely it was at the ruins and should visit more often. Given the age of the structure, and many of the surrounding trees, there would also be several specimens she could study.
Chapter 13
Emory had visitedmany ruins in his life, especially as a boy, but he’d never seen a setting so lovely with the way something so ancient still stood against time. Scarred and blemished, but “Almost romantic”.
Where had that thought come from?
Emory had never thought of anything in terms of romantic before. He’d heard many ladies and misses speak of such, but it was nothing he’d ever aspired to achieve or even experience.
Violet pulled back and glanced up at him. “You find the ruins romantic.”
Bloody hell, this was the second time that he’d spoken thoughts aloud. The first had been when he quoted Sir Walter Scott on deception. He really must be more aware not to speak all that he was thinking.
“It could serve as a romantic setting if one were pursuing such, as with your sister and her visiting lords,” he quickly explained before he turned to stroll toward the cemetery. Violet drew to his side, hands locked behind her back, and tilted her chin to look about as if she were taking in their surroundings. Was she considering if the setting could be viewed as romantic or dismissing him as foolish?
Emory paused at what was left of a crumbling stone wall. Beyond, and beneath the long, crooked, naked branches of the ancient trees were the stained, once white headstones. Some tilted, having sunk into the soft ground, others had fallen completely, or had been broken over time, and most were so weather damaged, their surfaces worn away from harsh elements, that it was nearly impossible to read names and dates.
As for their chaperone, Lady Joanna had found a fallen tree and had settled upon the large trunk to read and barely paid them any mind.
“I’ve a curiosity, Lord Ferrard.”
He cocked an eyebrow as he regarded Lady Violet. “Yes.”
“You stated yesterday, that until this past summer, you’d had many interests, yet you don’t any longer. Is there a reason?”
There was an excellent reason, which remained a closely held secret? Then again, it hadn’t been quite five months, so it was unlikely anyone had even noticed the absence of his father. Yet, Emory found himself reluctant to speak of his current circumstances, as nobody knew of his father’s failing health or deficiencies in his mind. Emory had listened to enough tales about the king before and after the prince began serving as Regent that Emory had no desire for such speculation to be bandied about of the Earl of Lovell.
He glanced down at Violet’s perfect profile and despite the desire to keep the family secrets private, Emory experienced the nearly overwhelming need to be completely truthful with her. He didn’t know from where or why the need arose, but it welled up within and had settled in his gut, sitting heavy as if he’d eaten too much and would remain uncomfortable until digested. He had a feeling that the stone would remain there until he told her the truth. He needed to release some of the burden he carried, even though she could offer no assistance.
“The interests remain. I’ve been too busy to enjoy them as I’ve spent all my free time learning everything that is needed to manage our estate, Hawthorn Park. Eventually the whole of it will come under my care, and I must be prepared.”
