Shouldn’t she already know why he was here? “I’ve come to call on Lady Violet.”
She placed a hand against her breast in alarm. “Have you not spoken with your brother? I was certain he’d report to you after he examined my daughter.”
Emory’s gut churned further. “Is she ill?” he asked, nearly afraid of the response.
“Goodness no,” Mrs. Harley quickly assured him. “Lady Violet has returned to Forester Hall. She sent a message to her brother this morning and Lord Epworth came to collect her.”
“Why would she return home?” Violet had no intention of returning to the estate until the gentlemen invited to court her sister had vacated the property.
“I do not know her reasons, Lord Ferrard, but she was disturbed and pale this morning, claiming to have suffered nightmares and wished to return home.”
“Nightmares?” he questioned.
“I found it odd as well. Lady Violet is usually reasonable, never emotional, yet this morning she wished to return home on account of a dream. It was very odd indeed but given the paleness of her complexion and light bruising beneath her eyes, she’d not slept well.”
He’d had nightmares in the past, as had everyone, and if bad enough, it could leave a person unsettled for an entire day. Though he couldn’t imagine what Violet could have dreamed that would make her act in such a rash manner. “Thank you, Mrs. Harley. I will call on her there.”
“She won’t be at the manor.”
“I thought she returned to Forester Hall.”
“The estate. She intends to hide in the dower house, where her brother and his wife have taken up residence until the guests are gone. She hopes that His Grace doesn’t learn that she’s returned.” Mrs. Harley laughed.
Violet relaxed as soonas she entered the conservatory and inhaled the familiar sweetness of tropical blossoms and the earthiness of soil waiting to assist life into delicate seeds. The plants of her nightmare were alive, well, and thriving and the newer specimens that she’d gotten from Lord Fanshawe had begun to bloom. Today was bright and the conservatory warm.
This is where she needed to be. This is what calmed her.
Here there was order.
Further, any decisions that she may need to make would be based in logic and knowledge, not emotion. Her mind, she could trust.
She’d been foolish to allow Lord Ferrard to upset her usually calm and rational state, and Violet was determined to reclaim the balance of her mind, while retaining what she’d learned to draw on in the future.
One of those lessons being that one must always be guarded when experiencing unusual, exciting circumstances, as they could possibly rid a person of logic, as her association with Lord Ferrard had done. She’d now experienced how attraction to a gentleman could render a person foolish, and she’d not succumb again, especially if said gentleman wished only to pursue friendship with her and widows for intimacy.
Violet wandered to the plants along the shelves facing north and pushed the tip of her finger into the soil of each to find they were sufficiently damp then moved on to the fruit trees growing further away, but able to catch light from the glass windows above. They too were doing well. Doing a slow turn, she noted that her conservatory was clean and tidy, and her plants well cared for, as if she’d been here all along. Though the estate may have been short of staff, at least a servant had seen to her precious possessions. Unfortunately, however, it gave her little to concentrate on. She’d hoped that there was at least something that needed her attention, but nothing did.
However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t plant her newest seedlings. Lord Fanshawe had told her that she must wait until after the first of the year, which it now was.
With those thoughts, Violet retrieved her apron, then the small pots and dirt and set to work. There was always something that needed to be done, and she’d let herself forget that. Further, she should enjoy this time when matters were not so pressing, for soon it would begin to warm, the bees would leave their hives, and she’d find a way for butterflies to live and survive within her glass room.
This is what she needed, and Violet was certain that in no time her anxiety over the dream would ease, her logic would return, and her heart would heal, for she was determined that when she next faced Lord Ferrard in London, there would be nothing but friendship in her heart.
Chapter 23
Emory paused outsideof the conservatory when he caught sight of Violet. She stood beside a scarred, wooden worktable, her golden hair pulled behind, though several strands had escaped the confines of pins and framed her face. It wasn’t an artful arrangement. When she raised a dirty hand and brushed the tresses away from her face, he knew for certain the messy arrangement was not intentional, simply practical, much like the lady herself. As her hand brushed her face, it left behind a smudge on her left check. Violet’s apron showed similar soil stains and reminded him of when he and his brothers were boys and had spent hours playing and fighting before returning to the nursery similarly covered in filth. Before her on the table were small, clay pots, with a pile of dirt to the side, and she held something in her cupped left hand that Emory couldn’t see, though he assumed they were seeds. She would methodically pluck something from her left hand, then place it gently within the pot, one after the other as she worked down the row, then returned to the first and started pressing more dirt on top, mindless of the mess she was making of the table or herself.
His heart swelled as warmth spread through him.
Usually when he was near a woman not put to rights, it was after a tumble that left him contented. The emotion was completely different watching Violet do something he knew that she loved.
After brushing loose dirt from her hands, Violet then lifted the tray of pots and placed it on a table closer to a window, then stood back, hands on her hips, a relaxed smile on her face.
At least she didn’t appear upset from her nightmare. He’d been worried after his discussion with Mrs. Harley. His concern mounted when he’d called at the dower house to be advised by Epworth that his sister was unusually out of sorts. But, by all appearances, Violet appeared content, even happy.
Is this all she needed to bring calm? Similar to how he found his way to the bay this morning after his argument with Liam.
Emory shook the thought away as he realized that he shouldn’t stand and simply watch, especially when she wasn’t aware that he was here. However, all Violet needed to do was look up and she’d see him, yet she didn’t. Instead, she turned away and returned to her worktable where she began to clean the area by brushing dirt into an open, hinged box, before she found a broom to sweep the area. If he didn’t know better, and based on her clothing and hair, Emory would have assumed he’d come upon a servant, a gardener’s assistant, except she was the daughter of a duke.
