“It was the same when Claire, the oldest of my younger sisters, had her first Season,” Ferrard offered. “My mother moved the entire family to London for the Season.”
“Grandmother has promised that we do not need to be in London until the end of March and I can only hope that it is a short Season because even being gone for a month prevents me from making a study of the spring behaviors.”
“I also hope for a short Season,” he agreed.
“I would think you’d like a longer one, or are you no longer on a quest for a wife?” Violet asked, not certain if she wanted to know if he’d changed his mind about settling.
“I will put my mind to courtship,” he admitted.
His statement brought what she could only describe as a stab to her heart, which was quite ridiculous, as they were only friends, and this was temporary. Still, it was a reminder that she must have care with her growing attachment as their courtship was soon to end.
“However, I will not settle. I’ve returned to my former plan of hoping to be happy in marriage.”
Though his words should be comforting, they were not, and Violet was certain that she’d not like the lady he finally chose.
When the blazes had she become so jealous, judgmental, and unreasonable, especially of someone she’d yet to meet? It wasn’t as if she wanted to be married.
She was not being reasonable and all she could hope was that she’d return to being pragmatic and sensible once Lord Ferrard left Laswell.
“Perhaps we could secretly visit Forester Hall and you could show me your gardens and conservatory.”
Again, Lord Ferrard held her eyes, the sapphire orbs nearly mesmerized her, as if he were seeing into her soul.
Goodness, he was dangerous.
She turned away and lifted a book that she already owned in hopes of breaking the hold he’d begun to have on her heart. “It is far too risky. I don’t wish to be seen.” She must remember their purpose, and that there was to be no future. “Perhaps on a return visit to your brother, when it is safe for me to be home without guests underfoot, you might call on me,” she offered the only reasonable response she could muster within her befuddled mind.
“Didyou know she keeps bees, and studies all manner of insects, includingspiders,” Emory announced to his brother over dinner. “What lady studies spiders? All the ones I’ve ever met, run, scream, and demand that I kill them.”
“I assume you are speaking of Lady Violet.”
“Yes, of course. Who else would I be speaking of?”
“True,” his brother agreed. “You speak of little else after your visits with Lady Violet.”
Emory frowned. It was as if his brother disapproved. “What else am I to speak of. She is the only person I’ve had contact with during my stay in Laswell, other than you and the Ladies Tilson.”
“There are other residents I could introduce you to,” Liam offered. “Mrs. Wilder was asking after you this afternoon actually.”
“Mrs. Wilder? Do I know her?” The name was vaguely familiar.
“She’s the youngest daughter of Viscount Ongley and was married to a footguard who lost his life at Waterloo.”
Yes, now he remembered her. They’d danced once, before she married.
“She said that she hoped that you’d remember her and that you might call on her some evening.”
“Why would I wish to do such?” Emory asked. “I barely remember her.”
Liam stared at him for the longest moment, then removed himself from his chair and crossed to the sideboard where he poured a glass of brandy. He turned, took a sip, and leaned back.
“What?” Emory demanded.
“Did you hear yourself?”
“I didn’t need to. I spoke the words.” Whatever was his brother getting at?
“When was the last time you turned down the offer of a willing widow?”
