Violet made her way purposefully down the staircase, moving quickly so that she wouldn’t change her mind. Her new gown rustled as she walked, but it fitted perfectly, surprisingly so given that most dressmakers seemed unable to accept the accuracy of her measurements and generally made her dresses a couple of inches too long. Somehow Captain Amberton had managed to order one of exactly the right length. How? Surely he couldn’t have remembered her height from five years ago. She would have assumed that he’d asked someone her size, but who?
‘Good evening.’ She passed Mrs Gargrave in the hallway. ‘Is Captain Amberton in the drawing room?’
‘He’s in the dining room, miss,’ a footman answered as the housekeeper gaped at her speechlessly. ‘Dinner’s ready to be served.’
‘Thank you.’
She gave a polite nod and swept on, hearing a muffled exclamation of outrage in her wake, though she didn’t have time to dwell on it. The door to the dining room was open and she could already see Lance standing inside. He was leaning against the chimney breast, dressed in a pair of form-fitting black trousers, matching leather boots, a crisp white shirt and perfectly tailored jacket. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought him the very model of genteel respectability. He wasn’t even holding a drink.
She paused in the doorway, lifting her chin and pulling her shoulders back before announcing herself. ‘Good evening, Lance.’
‘Violet.’ He glanced up and then did an abrupt double take, his gaze flickering first over her hair and then down to her gown. ‘You look...different.’
‘Oh.’ She couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It wasn’t quite the compliment she’d been hoping for. ‘I wanted a change.’
‘Evidently.’ His gaze travelled back to hers and held, though his expression was unreadable. ‘That colour suits you. I thought that it might.’
‘Eliza said you ordered the gown from Newcastle. Thank you.’
He inclined his head. ‘I thought I ought to get you something as a wedding present.’
‘I’m afraid I’ve shocked Mrs Gargrave.’
‘It doesn’t take much.’
She still couldn’t read his expression. ‘Are you shocked, too?’
‘A little.’ He smiled finally, though his gaze never left hers. ‘Though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I quite like to be shocked sometimes.’
‘What about my hair?’ She felt nervous asking. ‘Do you like that?’
He raised a hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully. ‘Do you know, the first time I saw you I thought you looked like a kitten. I wanted to pat you on the head. Now I do even more.’
A kitten? She felt a wave of dismay. How many more ways were there of calling her helpless?
‘You are not patting me on the head.’
‘Then I promise I won’t, no matter how tempted I am, but for the record, I approve. Wholeheartedly, in fact.’
‘Because I look like a kitten?’ She couldn’t conceal the resentment in her voice, and he arched an eyebrow.
‘I meant it as a compliment. Kittens are generally considered quite sweet.’
‘They’re small and timid.’
‘Ah.’ His eyes flashed with a look of understanding. ‘You’re right. But kittens grow into cats. Beautiful, sleek ones with claws, and we’ve already established that you have those.’
She made a harrumphing sound, only partially mollified, and he laughed. ‘Not good enough? All right then, Violet, you look quite scandalously beautiful tonight. That hairstyle suits you.’
‘Thank you.’ Her cheeks flushed at the compliment. No one in her whole life had ever called her beautiful before, nor looked at her with such obvious appreciation—no one except him five years before when she’d thought he’d been mocking her. Was he mocking her now? She peered up at him from under her lashes. No, amazingly enough, he didn’t look as though he was.
‘More importantly,’ he continued, ‘do you like it?’
‘Yes. I never realised how heavy my hair was before. I always felt like it was dragging me down, but I never realised how much. It’s as though I can finally move.’
‘Then I approve even more. Did you do it yourself?’
‘Yes, but it looked awful. Eliza fixed it.’
‘Remind me to raise her wages. She might make an excellent ladies’ maid. If you decide to stay, that is.’ He held out a chair for her to sit down. ‘Now I hope that you’re hungry. Cook has provided a feast.’
‘Have they finally forgiven us in the kitchens, then?’
‘It appears so. We’ll just have to eat everything or they might never cook for us again.’ He picked up a bottle from the centre of the table. ‘I didn’t know what you’d care to drink. I thought maybe lemonade?’
‘I’ll have some wine, thank you.’ She smiled at his look of surprise.
‘I thought that you didn’t approve?’
‘My father didn’t approve. I’ve never tried. I’d like to have a taste before I make up my mind.’
‘Very well.’ He put the lemonade down and picked up a different bottle, pouring a splash into her glass.
‘I thought you didn’t like half measures?’ She gave him a pointed look.
‘Touché.’ His lips quirked as he poured again. ‘I admire your good taste. This is a particularly fine claret. Is that sufficient?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
She reached for the glass and took a tentative sip. The wine had a far mellower taste than Mr Rowlinson’s brandy and made her stomach feel pleasantly fuzzy. She took a few more mouthfuls.
‘Strictly speaking it’s meant to be savoured, not gulped.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘Trust me, when it comes to alcohol I’m an expert.’
‘Oh.’ She took another mouthful and let the wine sit on her tongue for a few seconds before swallowing. Instantly the flavour seemed richer and more intense.
‘You know your hair really does suit you.’ He sat down opposite. ‘I like it more and more.’
She peered across the table suspiciously. ‘You don’t have to say that.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ve already said that I’ll consider your offer.’
‘I know that, too.’ He reached for his own glass. ‘Do you think that I’m trying to charm you?’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘I was simply offering a compliment based on fact. That’s allowed, isn’t it?’
‘Just as long as it’s honest.’
‘I’ve told you before, Violet, I’m many things, but not a liar.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She watched as he filled his own glass to the brim. ‘I just tend to assume...’ She bit her lip. She didn’t want to say what she tended to assume. She didn’t want to think that way any more, but old habits were hard to break.
‘That I’m lying because I’m a fortune hunter and wouldn’t dream of giving you a compliment otherwise?’
She winced at his bluntness. ‘I suppose so.’
‘You have so little confidence in yourself, then?’ He put the bottle down with a thud. ‘You know, sometimes I wish I’d hit your father when I had the chance.’
‘So do I.’
Both of his eyebrows shot up, though whatever response he was about to make faded as two maids entered the room carrying bowls of steaming Julienne soup.
‘This looks delicious.’ Violet licked her lips with anticipation. ‘I feel famished. It’s funny, but ever since I got here I’ve felt as though I could eat a horse.’
‘You could do to eat a couple.’
‘Father never let me eat much. He said it wasn’t ladylike.’ She swallowed a spoonful and sighed with pleasure. The soup was so delicious that she was half tempted to pick the bowl up and drink. ‘I feel as though I’ve been hungry my whole life. Now I want to make up for lost time.’
‘Then I’ll stop pestering you with conversation and let you enjoy. I do believe Cook will be very pleased.’
They ate in companionable silence, finishing off a first course of baked salmon before the arrival of braised beef, roast potatoes, parsnips, carrots and peas. Violet ate it all up with relish. She wanted to make up for lost time in so many ways. Food was just the beginning. If she could only have her freedom...
She studied Lance surreptitiously across the table. He’d said he was prepared to give her just that if she married him and the idea was becoming more and more tempting. He wasn’t the beast she’d thought he was, the house was captivating and she’d already made a friend in Eliza.
There was just one important question that needed answering, one that had been playing on her mind all afternoon, the very last one she wanted to ask aloud, but one that needed asking none the less. He’d said that their marriage would be one of convenience, a way of helping each other out, but how much freedom would he allow her really? How much of a marriage would it be? Given his reputation, how much of a real marriage did he want? And how could she possibly ask?
‘You know, you really are full of surprises.’ Lance leaned back in his chair, watching her through hooded eyes as she scooped up her last spoonful of citrus ice. ‘I misjudged you the first time we met. I thought you were timid and unassuming, albeit with an occasional flash of those claws. I never imagined you were the kind of woman who’d run off over the moors on her own. It was brave of you.’
‘I thought you said it was childish?’
She gave him a pointed look and he made a face.
‘I was angry when I said that. I’m afraid my temper isn’t my most endearing quality.’
‘What is?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I never expected you to cut off all your hair and drink wine either.’
‘Sometimes appearances can be deceptive.’
‘Yes, they can. By the by, how did you enjoy your walk in the snow?’
‘Very much. I found the sword in the stone.’
‘Any success?’
‘Unfortunately not.’ She gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘It seems I’m not destined to be a queen.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. If you were, then I’d have to wait for you to propose.’
‘But then I wouldn’t need to marry you. I’d already have my freedom.’
‘Then I’m doubly glad. I won’t call you Guinevere after all.’
‘Good. I always felt sorry for her.’
‘For Guinevere?’
‘Yes. In the stories, her husband—’ she avoided saying the name Arthur ‘—was always putting her on trial and then leaving it to Lancelot to save her. It was no wonder she preferred him.’
‘I never thought of it that way.’ He looked faintly amused. ‘So you think she loved him because he rescued her?’
‘Not necessarily. Maybe she never wanted to marry Ar—that is, her husband in the first place. But I always thought it was a tragic love story. Lancelot had to do the honourable thing in the end and leave her.’
‘You wanted a different ending?’
‘I don’t know. I just thought she deserved a better husband.’
‘A lot of women do.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘Do you like reading?’
‘Yes, but...’ Her voice trailed away and he arched an eyebrow.
‘Let me guess. Your father didn’t approve?’
She gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘He chose what I read, although I had a few of my mother’s old books for a while. I found them in a chest in one of the guest chambers and read them all in a month. There was Malory and Marvell and Thackeray and Richardson, too, I remember, but when Father found out he took them away. I don’t know why, or what he did with them.’
‘Well, feel free to read whatever books you want while you’re here.’ He looked at her broodingly. ‘Speaking of your being here, have you given any more thought to my proposal?’
‘I have.’ She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. ‘I just have a few questions.’
‘Such as?’
This time she picked up the glass and took a fortifying mouthful, starting to understand why he liked alcohol so much. It made certain subjects easier. ‘I was wondering about...bedrooms.’
‘Bedrooms.’ He repeated the word quizzically. ‘What about them?’
‘If I stay, will I keep the room I’m in now?’
‘If you wish.’
‘So I—we—wouldn’t move back into the old family quarters?’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but you can choose whichever bedroom you like.’
‘Oh...’ She faltered. Didn’t he know what she was trying to ask? He was supposed to be a libertine! Surely she didn’t have to come straight out and say it? But apparently she did... She cleared her throat with embarrassment.
‘Would we share it?’
‘Share what?’
‘The bedroom?’
A pair of dark eyebrows rose upwards in unison. ‘Would you want to?’
‘No!’ She felt her cheeks flare a vivid shade of crimson. She was trying to understand what he wanted, not saying what she did!
‘Forgive me...’ he sat up a little straighter ‘...but given your upbringing...’
‘You didn’t expect me to think of it?’ She willed her face to cool down, although it seemed determined to do the opposite. ‘I probably never would have, but my friend Ianthe and her husband are very...affectionate. She’s told me a few details as well.’
‘Indeed?’
‘And I wanted to know...’ Somehow she forced herself to keep talking. Now that she’d started, she had to at least finish her question, no matter how mortifying. ‘That is...I wanted to know what exactly our marriage would involve?’
‘Ah, and your friend has told you it involves sharing a bedroom?’
‘Yes. She and Robert do, but she says that sometimes, for some couples, it’s only occasionally.’ She picked up her glass again and took several long draughts.
‘I wouldn’t gulp it like that when you’re not used to it.’ His voice sounded strangely gravelly. ‘It might make you feel ill later.’
She stopped drinking although she didn’t put the glass down, tapping a finger against the side while she waited for him to respond. Judging by the silence, he didn’t know quite what to say.
‘What else has she told you?’ he asked finally.
‘About marriage?’
‘Yes.’
‘That they share a bed, too.’
‘Anything else?’
She cleared her throat awkwardly. Ianthe had told her a little more than that, but she certainly wasn’t going to repeat it.
‘I see.’ His voice softened slightly. ‘Violet, I would never ask you to do anything that you objected to. I certainly wouldn’t force you to share a room or a bed with me. My initial plans are simply to save the estate. The rest can follow afterwards.’
‘The rest?’ Her voice seemed to have jumped up an octave.
‘I’m afraid that providing an heir is another one of those duties my father would have expected me to fulfil. It would make sharing a bedroom—a bed—necessary on occasion, though only with your consent, of course.’
She took another mouthful of wine, mind whirling. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the word duty. Somehow it implied a distinct lack of freedom. It wasn’t particularly flattering either, as if that was the only reason he’d want to share a bed with her, and as for children... A month ago she’d never envisaged being married, let alone anything else. It was becoming hard to keep up with all the changes in her life, yet the thought wasn’t unpleasant. She would like to have children some day.
‘As I said, there’s no rush.’ Lance’s gaze was searching, as if he were worried about her reaction. ‘Especially since I can’t legally inherit my brother’s title for seven years.’
‘Oh.’ She blinked. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘In which case, why don’t we agree to think about children in seven years? That’s seven years of freedom for you, seven years of trying to put this place right for me. After that we can settle down to a life of quiet domesticity. You might even have learned to like me by then.’
‘What about your plan to drink yourself into oblivion?’ She frowned at the memory of what he’d said the previous evening. ‘You might not last seven years.’
‘I appreciate the confidence.’ He looked down at the glass in his hand. ‘All right. You drive a hard bargain, Miss Harper, but what if I refrain from drinking during daylight hours?’
‘Only in daylight?’
‘There’s only so much a man can do.’
She scrunched her mouth up thoughtfully. ‘So we’d live together as brother and sister for seven years?’
‘If that’s what you want. No one else need ever know. Even lawyers can’t stick their noses into private bedrooms. We can both sleep where we choose.’
She nodded, struck with an unexpected combination of relief and disappointment. She ought to be pleased, but it was hard not to be offended by such a genteel offer from such a notorious ladies’ man. She could hardly have asked for a clearer indication of his interest in her. Apparently he didn’t find her remotely attractive. Which led to another problem... Considering his reputation, if he didn’t want to share a bed with her, then whose would he?
‘What about in the meantime?’ She tried to ask the question nonchalantly. ‘Would there be other women?’
‘Would I take a mistress, do you mean?’ His teeth flashed in a grin.
‘It’s not a joke!’
‘Apologies. You caught me by surprise, but in answer to your question, no, I would not. I haven’t always had the highest regard for marital vows—other peoples’, that is—but I’ve learnt my lesson in that regard. If it’s my reputation you’re worried about, then I promise you, those days are over. I haven’t so much as looked at a woman in the past seven months. Ask Mrs Gargrave if you don’t believe me. All the maids have their virtues intact, though, of course, I can’t vouch for their behaviour with the footmen.’
‘I’ll ask no such thing!’
‘Not that I’ve lost any physical functions beyond my leg.’ He glanced pointedly downwards. ‘My injury wasn’t quite as interesting as I’m sure some of the gossips would have you believe.’
‘Lance!’
He raised his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘I’m only trying to reassure you that when it comes to producing an heir, the rest of my body’s still in full functioning order. I’ve only lost interest in the process, so to speak. I’m more than willing to fulfil my husbandly duties from a purely procreational perspective, but in all other respects you’d find me one of the most loyal husbands in England.’
‘Oh.’ She picked up her spoon and scooped up the remains of the melted ice from her bowl, hoping it might do something to cool her flaming cheeks. Well, she’d asked the question and he’d given her an answer. A pretty definitive one, too.
Lost interest in the process...
Somehow those words were the most disappointing of all.