“If you do know, you will let me pass and never come near me again.”
Sebastian’s heart ached. She knew...in the worst possible way, that he was her secret admirer, but not that his verse were true billets-doux. He dropped his chin to his chest and stepped back.
She gave a nod of dismissal before hastening from the supper room, head up, shoulders back, spine straight.
He looked around. Everywhere guests were talking at the top of their voices. Only those at the nearest table sent curious glances his way. He bowed in their direction and left the room.
His mother intercepted him at the entrance to the supper room with a hand on his arm. “You’re not leaving, are you? You have guests to entertain.”
“I have entertained all the debutants I ever will.” He lifted her hand from his forearm and bowed stiffly toward her. “Goodnight, mother.”
All his hopes, dreams, and plans lay trampled on the floor. Damn Dunridge and his drunken loose tongue. Damn himself for pretending to go along with that cruel prank all those years ago.
To his shy, younger self, it had seemed the only way to tell Violet how he felt about her. She had been older and appeared much more sophisticated. He had believed she would never take him seriously if he declared his love. Oh, she would have been sympathetic and kindly let him down, of that he was certain.
So, instead of declaring himself, he had taken the coward’s path and continued along it because he had not detected any hint that she returned his feelings. Until finally, during his visit last February, before leaving on his Grand Tour, he had come to hope there was something more than kindness and intellectual interest in her manner towards him. He had seen it again this morning on her doorstep when her eyes had flared with admiration.
He had blown his chance to reveal his love and destroyed any feelings she might have for him.
How would he ever convince her now that his miserable attempts at romantic verse were sincere?
Chapter Six
I have to get out! Before I dissolve into tears in front of everyone. I must not humiliate myself in front of the whole county.
Violet found her father chatting with a neighbor and pleaded a headache. He took one glance at her face, which despite all her efforts must have looked stricken, and immediately led her from the ballroom. Clutching her father’s steady arm, Violet wobbled as she descended the staircase on legs of jelly. Her other hand trembled on the balustrade.
Soon they were in their gig heading back down the gravel drive of Whitton Grange. The cold air cooled her flushed cheeks, while a woolen blanket swathed their legs. Lord Dunridge’s words ricocheted around her mind: A secret Valentine to the plainest and most unlikely-to-marry woman of your acquaintance.
This evening had surpassed even the worst ball of her London seasons, when not one gentleman among the hundreds at Lady Mollison’s ball had asked her to dance—such was her reputation as a boring and plain wallflower who wore unfashionable glasses and talked of nothing but the joys of botany and her plan to establish a botanical art society.
In the weeks prior to the event, she had sought support from those in society by inviting influential persons to join her in such a group. Little interest and much criticism had been forthcoming. She was labelled a bluestocking, an educated and intellectual woman, the worst appellation that could be attached to a lady’s name.
On the evening of the ball, her forward and presuming ways had been gossiped about loudly in her hearing. Her stomach turned to ice as she remembered the glare of their censorious gazes. On that occasion too, she had fled the ballroom...never to return.
There was one thing of which she was certain—she never wanted to see Sebastian again. She could never look him in the eye now she knew he had sent those silly ditties as a joke. How he must have laughed with his university friends as they shared his verses. The iceberg in her stomach grew bigger.
Perhaps she could ask Aunt Theodosia if she might visit her until she was sure that Sebastian had left Whitton Grange. After her return, she would invite Lord Dunridge’s aunt to stay and introduce her to Mr Shorncliffe. She nodded at her decision and pushed her glasses up her nose.
“Father, my annual stay with Aunt Theodosia is overdue. I should like to leave as soon as possible.”
In the dim glow of the carriage light Violet saw her father’s brow wrinkle. “My dear, this is all rather sudden. And since when did you ever volunteer to visit Aunt Theodosia? You hate Bath!”
“I believe I need a change of scene.”
“Would this have anything to do with Sebastian making a spectacle of kissing you under the mistletoe?”
“I would rather not talk about it,” she muttered.
“For some time, I have thought that Sebastian favored you. Tonight appeared to confirm it to me. Did he propose to you and that is what has upset—”
“Father, it was not what it appeared.” Her words came out far too forcibly to be polite.
“Then tell me what it was. I will speak with him, if necessary.” His voice was low and grim.
“Best you do not get in the bad books of the future earl, who will be your employer.”
“I care naught about that. Besides, I have tutored Sebastian since he was a lad. He listens to me. I can make my thoughts plain to him without acrimony, I’m sure.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Diplomacy is my middle name, you know.”
