Once Violet returnedto the Harley home and closed the door, heaviness surrounded her.
She was not used to such inactivity, of not being free to roam about as she did at home. With Silvia still ill and unable to visit, Violet was left alone with her thoughts and little to occupy her time, as she’d already finished the two books that she’d purchased a few days earlier, and there was nothing of interest shelved in Mr. Harley’s library. This idleness was beginning to wear on her, and for a moment, Violet wondered if she shouldn’t just return home.
There were several places she could be at Forester Hall where she was unlikely to be discovered. Yet, she’d not be able to relax because someone may stumble upon her. Violet didn’t want to be anyone’s second choice, nor did she want to be chosen simply because of connection and wealth. While she was aware of the freedoms that would be lost to her in marriage, she had hoped to at least marry someone who was companionable, or her future could be miserable.
However, at home she had her books, writing materials, and studies. Here, she had nothing to keep her entertained. Not even a journal to write in. Though, in truth, she used journals for marking botanical notations and not her innermost thoughts.
She wasn’t even certain that Lord Ferrard would be willing to continue to court her if he had to drive out to the manor every day.
If only Silvia wasn’t so ill, then Violet could visit with her.
Poor Silvia was alone in the darkness and too ill for even visitors. It was a shame, and therefore Violet decided that she’d save the macarons so that they could be shared with her friend upon her recovery.
“Lady Violet, should I take your pelisse and bonnet?” Mary asked, staring at her oddly.
Macarons! She’d left the box atPiquet’s Tea Room.
With those thoughts, Violet turned for the door. “I shall return.”
“Where are you off to, Lady Violet?”
“I’m simply going to pay a call. I shan’t be long,” she assured Mary then exited.
Emory leftbehind the Harley home and Lady Priscilla with an unshakable feeling that something had been forgotten. Other than the desire to finally kiss Violet, he could think of nothing that was left undone.
As he walked toward his brother’s home, he glanced over atPiquet’s Tea Roomand recalled the outrageous conversation that he’d shared with Violet, and the reason they’d been there in the first place…That was it. She’d left her box of macarons behind.
He quickly crossed the cobbled street and entered the tearoom. This was the perfect excuse to see her again. He could return her French biscuits, then if she were willing to perhaps walk with him once again, without a chaperone, he might be able to address the matter of not kissing, which wasnotpart of their agreement.
“Ah, you’ve returned for Lady Violet’s macarons,” Madame Piquet said knowingly.
“Yes. I fear we were so caught up in our conversation that we didn’t make certain nothing was left behind.”
She lifted the box but did not hand them to him. “You will return them directly to her?”
It was asked as a challenge, as if Emory would make off with them for himself.
“They are coveted, as we do not bake them often.”
“I promise to deliver them directly,” he assured Madame Piquet, though he couldn’t understand why one biscuit was any more delicious than others. Perhaps if he were fond of sweet delicacies he might understand.
Before she handed them over, however, the door opened again, and Emory turned to find Violet hurrying inside.
“Ah, you did not forget.”
“Thank goodness they are still here,” Violet gasped.
“Lord Ferrard was attempting to abscond with them.”
Emory straightened. “I most certainly was not,” he defended, then noticed Madame Piquet nearly laughing.
At that, Emory turned to Violet. “I promise, I was going to deliver them directly to you. I’d not realized that they’d been forgotten until I was walking by.”
“I thank you for your concern, Lord Ferrard,” she said. “I simply can’t believe that I’d forgotten them. I’ve never forgotten anything before.” She took the box from Madame Piquet. “Thank you again.”
He then held the door, and they were once again on the walk. “Everyone forgets something once in a while,” he assured her.
Violet looked up at him, her face somber and serious. “Not I, Lord Ferrard. Once heard or read, it is not forgotten.”
