“Living in the country with her latest amour until the scandal of the divorce dies down. I expect she will return to London eventually. I have provided a house there for her use when she is ready.”
“I’m glad you both now have the opportunity to embrace happiness.”
“Very liberal-minded of you, son, when my decision has dragged our name through the mud.”
“It matters not,” Sebastian answered.
Some would say she and Sebastian had done their fair share of dragging the family name through mud by marrying in such an impetuous way.
Their conversation halted with the arrival of Thomas Jenson and his bride. Jemima, the eldest daughter of the Whitton Grange gamekeeper, was the prettiest of the local girls—and a fan of Thomas’s newly discovered knack for verse. They were reserved in the exalted company until Sebastian put them at ease.
William Shorncliffe and his wife of eight months came into the room with a flurry of cold air from outside. Lord Dunridge’s Aunt Susan had proven to be a cheery companion who delighted in relating the absurdities of the latest gothic novel she had read.
When Violet had introduced her to William last February, the lady’s eyes had lit up with appreciation. Shorncliffe’s six children had been greeted with delight by the middle-aged spinster, who had thought she would never have children to mother.
Susan soon had the permanently worried Shorncliffe laughing and to Violet’s mind their future together had seemed assured. And so it became. They were married in the Whitton church at Easter, surrounded by spring blossoms.
Violet’s father had presided over the ceremonies of all the assembled couples, with a delighted look on his face.
This evening, he arrived last.
Violet hugged him tightly. He looked a little older and wearier. Now, more than ever, she wished he could find a woman to love and support him in his work.
There was a commotion in the hallway and in walked an attractive middle-aged lady dressed in rich reds to complement her dark hair. Violet’s father stepped swiftly to her side and offered his arm with a smile, before turning to Violet. “May I present Mrs Maud Marsdon, who has recently retired from teaching and moved into Mrs Sperling’s cottage.” As he introduced them, her father managed to look simultaneously proud yet sheepish.
Violet closed her gaping mouth and hurried to greet the newcomer.
“I hope you don’t mind me inviting Mrs Marsdon? I felt you should meet her as soon as possible.” He gave her a look hopeful of understanding.
So here at last was a lady in whom her father was interested! First impressions were favorable. Hope that this was the one who could make her father happy in his later years, rose like a hot air balloon within Violet. “Of course. We are delighted to have you join us. And you will balance our numbers nicely.”
The informal dinner proceeded with general good cheer despite the disparity between the stations of the assembled guests. Sebastian rose to make a toast. “We’re assembled here tonight to celebrate both the Christmas season and the couples who married their loves under the benevolent eye of the Reverend Hambleton during the year. Please raise your glasses.”
They followed his lead.
“May your marriages continue to grow and strengthen with each passing year,” the Reverend responded in his warm and sincere way.
“By the bye, do you have any news of Mr Reynolds and Mr Swithin, father?” Violet asked, reminded of her other suitors.
“I do. Mr Reynolds has married the widow of his former partner in Clayton and Reynolds. An older lady and formidable to be sure, but wealthy and with a good business mind.”
“That sounds like a good match,” Violet said. “And Mr Swithin?”
“He is, I believe, courting the eldest daughter of our bishop.”
“I’m glad.” All her former suitors had found far more fitting matches than her.
To Violet’s delight, the kissing ball in the sitting room was surreptitiously patronized by each of the couples between the musical entertainments and parlor games of the evening.
It was almost midnight when she trudged upstairs supported by her husband’s arm. The closer Violet got to her confinement, the more weary she became. Right now, she craved her soft bed and Sebastian’s arms wrapped around her.
She undressed and washed while Sebastian did the same on his side of the spacious room. Enveloped in a warm brushed-cotton nightgown, she subsided under the covers of her bed. Her head dropped onto the down-filled pillow, and something crunched beneath her cheek. She slid her hand underneath the pillow and pulled out a note.
To my love, was scrawled across the folded sheet of paper.
She smiled. Her not-so-secret admirer was still writing her poetry. Her eyes met his across the softly lit room. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but his trademark amused grin was in place.
She broke the seal and read:
