The days weren’t sodifficult for Violet. In the morning she sat beside the window in her chamber and read and took notes for later reflection. At the proper time, Mary prepared her for courtship by seeing that she was put to rights before meeting Lord Ferrard.
The nights, however, were more difficult. Violet was still unable to visit with Silvia, and she found it difficult to sleep. This wasn’t unusual since her mind was constantly thinking, making lists, and contemplating. However, of late, she’d been contemplating Lord Ferrard. If her dearest friend wasn’t so ill, Violet would be in her chamber this instant confiding in Silvia and asking the most pressing questions.
Oh, she knew all about flowers, plants, bees, and spiders and what she didn’t know, she could learn. Human emotion and response were Silvia’s expertise. Violet tried to analyze her reactions, but with so little experience in the ways of love and attraction, she couldn’t be certain that she’d reach the correct conclusions.
However, each person reacted differently when friendships grew and that was where she became confused. Was she simply feeling a deeper friendship for Lord Ferrard, one that quickly developed, far quicker than she thought possible? Or were her emotions beyond friendship? She’d not loved anyone outside of her family previously. She’d not experienced a longing to be with someone, yet she wished to be with Lord Ferrard. However, was it on account of a deepening friendship and nothing more?
Oh, it was so aggravating not to be certain. Violet prided herself on being sensible and logical, but there was no logic to her emotions, nor sense either, and this uncertainty was foreign to her.
In a huff, Violet opened one of the books and settled by the window, a lamp lit to illuminate the pages, and began to read, hoping the dissertation on tropical plant life would distract her from her chaotic thoughts. However, after what seemed like hours, she gave up, unable to recall much of what she’d read, a further aggravation.
Never had she been unable to concentrate on a study of interest. Tightening the wrap around her shoulders, Violet pulled her feet up onto the chair and smoothed her gown over her knees and stared out the window.
As he had been for a sennight, Tommy was keeping watch. It was unnecessary, as nobody was going to bother her or worse, try to do her harm, and a complete waste of time when the young man would probably prefer to be home in his bed. At least the family was benefiting financially from the unnecessary security.
Few people were out this late, but she watched a few couples stroll by and some men returning home from most likely visiting Crawley’s, which was the closest tavern to the Harleys’. All were people she recognized as having lived here for as long as she could remember. They were familiar faces and a comfort.
It was pleasant to watch people spend time together, to have loves or friendships. To not be alone as she was.
Violet had never suffered from loneliness before, as she could always visit with family or Silvia if she wished for company. Neither were available to her now, and these introspective thoughts that had invaded her mind, the questioning, and realizing that she was for the moment very much alone weighed heavy as if a wet, woolen blanket had been placed upon her. This loneliness was an uneasy feeling and as unfamiliar as the odd sensations she experienced with Lord Ferrard.
He was a danger to her. Not that he’d ever intentionally cause harm, and certainly not in a physical manner, but Violet feared that she might fall in love.
As she watched out the window her gaze was drawn to Mrs. Wilder strolling along the street with a gentleman who was turned away from her. As they neared the lamplight, the gentleman first nodded to Tommy, which wasn’t unusual, and then he turned to glance at the Harley house.
Violet sucked in a breath. Why was Lord Ferrard walking with Mrs. Wilder?
The answer came before she could finish the question. Mrs. Wilder was a lovely young widow, having lost her husband at Waterloo.
Violet knew before she had ever met Lord Ferrard that he preferred young widows, and he’d found one in Laswell.
How had he met her? Was Lord Ferrard spending his nights with the widow, when not getting foxed with his brother, and his afternoons with Violet?
A new sensation welled inside, another that she’d never before experienced, but she identified it immediately as jealousy.
Why was she jealous?
Violet moved away from the window, no longer wishing to watch who passed below.
Their courtship wasn’t real, just a convenience to appease their parents. They both knew that it was to end on January sixth. She had no real claim on Lord Ferrard, nor did he have a claim on her. Therefore, it shouldn’t matter that he was spending time with the widow, should it?
Yet, it did. It mattered very much.
Chapter 21
Emory glaredat Liam across the breakfast table.
“Did you not have a pleasant night?” his brother asked as he poured a cup of coffee.
“That depends on your version ofpleasant.”
“I assumed that after you saw Mrs. Wilder home that your evening had improved.” He leaned back. “However, I’m rather surprised that you appear well-rested.”
Emory slammed his fist on the dining room table. “You arranged that meeting, did you not?”
“It would do me little good to deny it.”
“I told you that I had no interest, yet you went against my wishes.”
