“Fetch my cloak, Peggy,” said Violet as she glanced about the workroom. Without knowing what the trouble was, she couldn’t say for certain what was required, so she filled a basket with anything that might prove useful. Thankfully, she’d stocked many of her favorite tonics and tisanes for childbirth.
In a trice, Peggy had her bundled up and in the carriage, and Violet considered the letter. Perhaps the trouble wasn’t medical. Dr. Vaughn knew what he was about; surely, he didn’t require her. Unless something truly was amiss, and he needed an assistant.
Violet shook that thought away. Most likely Mr. Finch’s family was plaguing her. Should Felicity require an armed guard to muscle her sister-in-law out of the lying-in chamber, Violet was quite up to the task. Mrs. Annette Finch was a twig compared to Violet Templeton, and it would be easy enough; gentlemen were never comfortable tossing a lady out on her ear, but Violet had no such qualms.
Such thoughts followed her as they made their way to Farleigh Manor. Leaning toward the window, she watched as the house came into view. Trees framed the drive, opening up to reveal the building, which was a patchwork of various styles and colors. Having been expanded and built over generations, Farleigh Manor had an oddly unique appearance, and though Violet adored the vista, she felt like shouting for the driver to move faster.
Springing out before the carriage came to a stop, she hurried to the door, which opened without bidding, and the manservant took her things before ushering her up the sweeping staircase and into his mistress’s lying-in chamber. The adjacent drawing room hosted a wealth of Finches as the family waited together, and in the far corner sat a piano occupied by Mr. Finch, but Violet passed by with barely a glance.
They’d repurposed a sitting room next door for Felicity’s use, with the birthing cot placed in the middle so her attendants could easily move about, and the mother-to-be was propped upby a mound of pillows, looking as calm and collected as though she was enjoying an afternoon coze.
“There you are,” said Mrs. Finch as Dr. Vaughn popped up from his seat. “We were just speculating if Felicity’s note was adequately provoking.”
Violet’s gaze darted between the people. “Is everything progressing well?”
“Perfectly,” said Felicity, crossing her arms before whispering something to Mrs. Finch, who ushered Dr. Vaughn toward the door. “Go keep Lewis company, else he will force his way back in. Do not allow him to do so until it is time.”
“As you wish,” said Dr. Vaughn with a curt bow before the pair swept out of the room and shut the door behind them, leaving Felicity alone with Violet.
Violet could hardly think what to say; her pulse still raced, and though Felicity motioned her toward an empty seat, it took a few moments before Violet was calm enough to do so.
“I thought something was amiss,” said Violet, setting her basket on the ground beside her. “That Mrs. Finch was being contrary, or Dr. Vaughn required assistance.”
“I am healthy and hale, all things considered, and Lewis’s family is less a problem than the man himself. He frets with each pain, making me more anxious, but Phineas has set himself to distracting and corralling Lewis for now whilst Annette sees to my every whim.”
Felicity paused, her brows rising. “But is that the only reason you think I would wish for you to be in attendance? To distract my family and play nurse to me?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Violet nodded, her gaze drifting away. “You have Dr. Vaughn now, and with everything that has happened of late, I wasn’t entirely certain I was wanted—”
Violet’s words were cut short when Felicity drew in a sharp breath and winced, before bending forward with a grown. Leaning closer, Violet took the lady’s hand, and Felicity squeezed it with all her might as she struggled against the growing pain.
“You are doing beautifully,” she whispered, rubbing Felicity’s hand between hers. Silently, Violet counted off the seconds as the contraction lingered. “Just another moment.”
As Felicity’s muscles relaxed once more, she dropped back onto the pillows with a sigh as new beads of sweat gathered at her temple. Violet leaned away, but Felicity’s hold was tight and refused to let her put distance between them.
“The note I had Lewis send you wasn’t sign enough?” she asked when she had the breath to do so.
“He only wrote that you had taken to your bed, not that you wished me to come.”
Pinching her nose, Felicity gave a halting chuckle. “That man is truly abysmal at expressing himself.” Lowering her hand once more, the lady studied Violet, though she couldn’t bear to meet Felicity’s gaze. “Believe it or not, Violet Templeton, I wanted you at my side because I wanted your company. I haven’t any mother, and though Annette is a dear, she is little more than a stranger. You are my closest friend in Devon.”
Felicity sighed, her expression falling. “I know I was a terrible correspondent, and though you’ve said you understand why, I feel as though you are angry with me.”
“I am not angry with you,” said Violet with a shake of her head.
“Then why are you keeping me at a distance? Goodness knows that the years apart have made us very different people from back then, but I feel as though we could be as good of friends as ever.”
Most decisions have little impact on one’s life. Choices were an everyday occurrence, after all. And even significant ones often felt unimportant in the moment, leaving one unable to truly comprehend the gravity of that decision until the consequences made themselves known. But Violet recognized this moment for what it was and knew silence would protect her from further pain, allowing her to keep her fears and flaws carefully hidden from view—and leaving Violet isolated and alone.
Yet to place her trust in someone who had already abandoned her? To risk her heart again?
“Do you truly think I will forget you when the baby is born?” asked Felicity.
Violet straightened and yanked her hand away. “Pardon?”
“You mentioned it the last time we spoke.”
Cheeks heating, Violet tried to recall the entire conversation, but it was a jumbled mess of emotions. Her words had come without thinking, drawing forth more confessions than she’d intended. Or remembered.
