“I do not understand the purpose of alcohol consumption,” Lady Violet observed, and for a moment Emory wondered if she could have read his mind about the ill-effects of ale.
“Not only does it affect a person’s emotions, but more importantly, alters their control. I do not understand the willingness to give up such in that you can no longer make clear and concise decisions.” She leaned back as the tea service was set on the table and Madame Piquet poured. Once she was gone, Violet leaned in again.
“Perhaps it is because gentlemen only relinquish power for a short time and it’s quickly regained the following morning, unlike when a woman marries. Once relinquished, it’s never regained, unless she were to become a widow, but even then, it is dependent on how much control she has over any funds or if her husband left someone else in control of finances on which she must depend.”
Emory frowned as her words sank in. “You equate marriage with alcohol?”
“Yes,” she answered. “At least for a woman, as both have the possibility of being dominated by that which she cannot command.”
Madame Piquet returned and placed a tiered tray on the table with enough selections for two people to enjoy with their tea. Lady Violet chose a small, lemon cake and placed it on her plate, and Emory weighed his decision over the scone or finger sandwich and opted for the sandwich, as it was least likely to be upsetting.
His stomach hadn’t completely recovered from the night before.
“I am one of eleven children, as you may be aware,” she began as if to explain. “My oldest brother, Wesley, is soon to be a father and if it is a son, Father will have little concern, especially since he has four other sons. My fear is that Father will then turn all his attention to his unwed daughters, such as the house party he arranged to see Lucinda wed.”
Emory blinked. He knew her family was large, he just hadn’t realized exactly how large, though it was something he could have easily looked up in Debrett’s. He’d just never had cause to do so.
“I can only hope that my assumption is incorrect and that my father will be more focused on the fact that he has a new grandson, the next heir, as lords tend to do, and not give much attention to seeing me married. Until that time, I have control over my own destiny.”
Then she grinned at him. “Therefore, Lord Ferrard, I thank you for the opportunity to enter into this courtship, thus allowing me to maintain the freedom I hold dear. And hopefully my father will view this as my attempt at matrimony and no longer chastise me for avoiding Society.”
“You’ve no intention to wed?” he asked. To hear her speak, it was almost as if she were putting off a sentence of death, though perhaps, not so dramatic.
“I’m certain I’ll eventually wed, as I have little choice in the matter,” she answered. “However, I will avoid it as long as possible since there is far too much that I enjoy that may be refused to me in the future.”
Perhaps not a death sentence, but Lady Violet certainly saw marriage no differently than a jail cell.
Chapter 16
It wasn’tthat Violet didn’t wish to be married,eventually, but she was not yet ready to become a wife, mistress of the manor, and mother, which would require that she relinquish all freedoms she currently enjoyed. As Ferrard was clear that when he did seek a bride that it would not be her, it was easier to enjoy her freedom for as long as she were allowed.
Though, it still bothered her that he’d talked about finding the perfect woman, while talking to her, without indicating once that he might consider her. It was a conundrum, because Violet longed to retain her freedom, yet it bothered her that he didn’t want her.
It was simply attraction, that was all, and she mustn’t read further into her reaction to his presence even if she still grew warm when she gazed into his sapphire eyes, which was why she mustn’t do so any more than necessary. Further, she avoided his touch because even something so simple as her hand on his sleeve caused her to want to touch him further, bring him close, as if her hand on his arm was not enough.
He, however, had no objection to touching, given his knee had brushed hers several times beneath this small table and his boots had encountered the inside of her kid boot as well, which caused her to become acutely aware of his physical presence. That quiver she so often experienced in her belly had spread further into her nether regions, and at times, her bodice seemed to become tight. It was almost all she could do to maintain polite conversation and keep to the topic at hand.
Thank goodness theirs wasn’t a true courtship and that there would be no marriage in the end, or she might have forgotten herself. Then where would she be? In love with a rake who would return to Sussex following Epiphany and she’d be left alone and wounded. She simply would not allow it. She’d not leave herself vulnerable.
“Do you have no wish for children either, Lady Violet?” he asked, though his tone was more of a curious nature, not the damning tone as she’d heard from at least one older brother when she’d voiced her intentions.
“Yes, eventually, I suppose,” she answered honestly. As much as she wished to put off the inevitable, Violet had never truly given thought to what it would be like to be a mother.
“Children are usually the result of love and desire.” He shifted and his knee brushed the inside of hers. Was he doing so on purpose?
Yes, of course he was. Lord Ferrard was a rake, after all and probably knew all manner of ways to make a woman forget herself.
“I understand that poets wax on about love and gentlemen must feel desire in order to procreate,” she offered. “For a female however, neither is necessary if the goal of an heir is the desired outcome.”
He simply blinked at her. It was a rather bold and shocking statement, especially made to a gentleman.
“You do not believe a woman feels desire as well?” he asked as he reached for a biscuit, the very one she was going to pick up, his fingers brushing hers. Not only did her stomach quiver again, but so did her heart.
Violet pulled back her hand as if she’d been burned, though she hoped that it wasn’t so obvious to alert him to her discomfort. Why was he reaching for a biscuit anyway? He didn’t even like them.
Goodness, was that a heart palpitation that she’d been warned of?
Though, in truth, it wasn’t discomfort but quite the opposite. However, Violet had no desire for Lord Ferrard to know that he had any effect on her sensibilities.
