Violet winced as the curtains on her bed were pushed aside, exposing her little nest to the harsh morning. Her lady’s maid stood there with her arms outstretched, making her slight form seem larger than it was.
“Get up, get up, my lady!” Dalby urged. “It’s nearly noon!”
“So?” Violet sat up unwillingly. The windows of the room let in a stream of winter sunlight bright enough to make her want to pull a pillow over her face. “You say it as if there’s cause for concern. I always sleep late.”
In fact, Violet’s schedule was so well known to the household that she didn’t understand Dalby’s excitement. The girl had been her lady’s maid for nearly six years, and it wasn’t as if anything had changed recently. Violet rose late because she rarely fell asleep before dawn. When one chose stargazing as a hobby, late nights were inevitable.
“Oh, you don’t understand, ma’am,” Dalby said. “Your aunt will be here any moment and she’ll be upset if you’re still abed.”
“Aunt Judith is coming up here? Why?” Violet slid out of the high bed, her feet going right into the slippers Dalby always laid out for her.
“You need to be dressed as soon as possible,” Dalby said. She seemed out of sorts, her normally tidy brown hair now falling loose under her maid’s cap. “Your aunt says a suitor is coming to call this afternoon!”
“I don’t have any suitors,” Violet pointed out. “So who could possibly be coming to call?”
“The Duke of Dunmere!” a new voice chimed out.
Judith Peake strode into Violet’s bedroom with her arms and smile both suspiciously wide. She was the opposite of Violet in both looks and temperament, despite being related to Violet by blood.
“Good morning, Aunt Judith,” Violet said.
Judith didn’t lose her smile as she said, “Good afternoon, you mean. And it will be a good afternoon, since by the end of it, you will be betrothed to a duke! What a coup, yes?”
“One afternoon makes for a brief courtship,” Violet said, nervousness starting to bloom within her. “You’re being quite optimistic, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I’ve been arranging the matter for over a month. This is a formality.” Judith leveled her gaze at Violet, her eyes cold. “That is, it will be a formality so long as you present yourself as a perfect lady!” The false smile returned. “Which of course you will. Sweet, demure, polite. Accomplished—but not to excess. Charming—but not flirtatious. And above all, alert.”
“Yes, Aunt,” Violet said.
Dalby murmured next to her, “Don’t worry. I told Cook to brew your coffee extra strong, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Violet whispered back.
Judith walked to the wardrobe and flung it open. “Now then, what sort of gown would impress a duke? Dalby, what do you suggest?”
Dalby hurried over to discuss the matter with Judith. Violet reached for the breakfast tray and poured herself some coffee. Of course Violet’s preferences would not be considered. Judith thought Violet was an oddly behaved irritant, and she would no sooner seek Violet’s opinion on a matter than she would ask a tea table.
So Violet was draped and primped and styled and adorned under Judith’s sharp eye. She wore one of her best gowns, a blue and white striped silk creation that showed off Violet’s delicate coloring and further heightened her slim figure. A cropped white jacket covered her arms and the top of the dress. Pearls at her throat and ears completed the ensemble.
“Well done, Dalby,” Judith said. “Open your eyes wider, Violet. You must look attentive when the duke arrives.”
“And why is he arriving?” Violet asked, feeling sharper after her second cup of coffee. “What possible interest could a duke have in me? I’m only the daughter of a second son of a baron. Papa was never even expected to get the title.”
“But he did, and of a barony that goes back over five hundred years!” Judith reminded her. “Your blood is as noble as Dunmere’s, even if your title is less distinguished. This is a great opportunity. This may come as a surprise to you, but not every man in England is a duke.”
Violet was aware of that, but she knew better than to say so out loud. “Yes,” she said patiently, “but why come at all? Why should a duke go in search of a bride? Surely there are families campaigning for the honor."
Judith sighed in exasperation. “What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? I keep my ears open, I hear of an opportunity, and I seize it! Marriages are not random occurrences, my dear. They require effort and skill to arrange.”
And to endure, Violet thought, again keeping her thoughts silent. She looked out the window over the grounds of the Peake estate. It was not extensive. Over the years, parts had been sold off or rented as the Peake fortunes declined. Roger Peake was wealthy, but not as wealthy as he’d been when Judith married him thirty years ago, largely because Judith was good at spending her husband’s money. However, the main house was large and gracious. Even a duke might be a little impressed.
That afternoon, Violet sat in the parlor with Aunt Judith and Uncle Roger. She held a recent pamphlet on astronomy in her hands—comets were a particular interest—but she was unable to concentrate. Her mind was too busy considering all the possibilities of this potential suitor. If Judith was telling the truth, then he must be serious enough about a match to come to Hawebeck Place and meet Violet in person.
But then why had Judith kept the plan secret till the last minute? Perhaps she thought Violet would object. Or was there something wrong with him? Why choose Violet out of the blue? She was not popular. She had one Season among society, which garnered no proposals, and certainly Violet was not known for her wit. Yes, she was considered fair. But she froze up when asked to speak in front of more than a few people, and it was worse with strangers in the room. Nor was her dowry impressive. No, not even Violet would have chosen Violet for a duchess. So why did this man?
She glanced over at Judith suspiciously. Her aunt had a predilection for fortune telling. Was it possible a coincidence of birthdates or names or something more absurd—like favorite fruits—could have started this mess? What if Judith pressed the issue and made a fool of herself and the family by claiming that Fate decreed the match? Violet shivered. She despised such nonsense, and she hoped the real story was more mundane. If she got up the nerve, she’d ask the duke…assuming he ever arrived.
Uncle Roger was moving nervously about the room. He’d sit for a moment, then get up, then move to the window, then to the fireplace. Then he’d sit again. To Violet’s sharp eyes, he looked as though he very much wanted a drink. It was not a difficult guess. Roger Peake found solace in a wine bottle far more frequently than anywhere else.
For her part, Judith embroidered with stoic resolve, and the clock ticked onward. She sat tall and straight in the chair. She wasn’t a beauty, but she was a woman people listened to, especially when she chose to use her charm.
“Of course a duke keeps his own schedule,” Judith muttered then, after looking at the clock. She’d made a similar statement every quarter hour.
Violet considered ringing for more coffee, but then looked down at her already trembling hands and thought better of it. Too much coffee made her quite odd. And though she knew nothing of this Duke of Dunmere, she knew a marriage was her best chance to escape her aunt’s home. Could she endure much longer with Judith sniping at her and making her feel like a failure every day, in a dozen little ways? Violet had to find a better place.
Then a footman entered. “The Honorable Herbert Kenyon,” he announced.
Roger rose immediately, and Judith did too, out of sheer eagerness. Everyone expected the name to be followed by another, more illustrious name, but it wasn’t, and only one man entered the room.
He was an older man, dressed simply but well, and everything about his appearance suggested wealth.
“Mr Peake,” the gentleman said. “Mrs Peake.”
He then bowed in a courtly fashion. “And, of course, Lady Violet,” the man greeted her. “I am here on the behalf of my nephew, Alexander Kenyon, Duke of Dunmere. He regrets very much that he could not come in person. At the last moment, he was unavoidably detained.”
Judith reacted in her typically dramatic way. “Oh, that is most unfortunate! We have been so looking forward to meeting his grace.”
Indeed, the best tea had been prepared, with especially expensive food purchased for the dinner Judith hoped the duke would remain for. This might be an expensive misfire, Violet thought.
Kenyon gave a little shrug. “Alas, events did not fall out as planned. His presence was demanded in London.”
“Well, a duke must have many demands on his time,” Judith said, more smoothly now that she recovered from her first shock. She gave a significant look to Violet, who understood she was now to perform.
“My aunt has informed me that you have spoken to my uncle and guardian,” she said, not mentioning she was informed only hours ago. “So it is the case that Dunmere has offered for me?”
“Yes, my lady,” said Kenyon, “after great consideration.”
“Forgive my confusion, sir, but I do not see precisely what consideration was taken. I have never met the duke,” Violet said, fearing even this statement would be too bold.
“Violet,” Judith said, in a tone that was nearly a hiss.
Kenyon, however, only smiled sadly. “Not romantic, I admit. A proposal by proxy is surely not what young ladies dream of. But the duke is an honorable gentleman and I assure you he has the means to give you a comfortable life.” The last part of his phrase had to be a vast understatement. Only a fortune could have made Judith’s eyes light up the way they had.
He went on, “The duke did wish to learn more about you, my lady, which is why I am here. Of course, I can also answer what questions you may have.”
Violet looked at the older man, who seemed sincere. “I would appreciate that, Mr Kenyon.”
After being seated and offered tea and cakes, Kenyon asked her, “Where to begin, my lady? Let us start with something simple. What are your pastimes?”
Violet opened her mouth, intending to explain about her interest in astronomy, when Judith interrupted.
“She is a great reader, Mr Kenyon. Her adorable nose is nearly always in a book.”
“Novels?” he asked, with interest. “Radcliffe, perhaps?”
“Certainly not,” Judith said with a slightly nervous laugh. “If you’re asking if I would permit her to read that horrid stuff, I assure you dear Violet is not so frivolous.”
“I asked merely because I saw a few of her titles on the shelf over there, including the last one—The Italian?” Kenyon said mildly.
Judith made a half turn in her seat, spied the offending books, and turned back to him with wide eyes. “My goodness. I haven’t the slightest idea how those got there. I shall have them disposed of immediately.”
“Seems a shame. I quite liked The Italian.”
Violet hid her smile before Aunt Judith could see it. But Mr Kenyon did, and she caught a tiny answering smile.
Judith recovered quickly enough, and praised Violet’s many accomplishments, which was a shock to hear. She didn’t exactly lie, Violet had to admit, but she embellished.
“And I do not need to point out that our dear Violet is as lovely as a spring day,” Judith was saying. “She takes after her mother.”
Her aunt gestured to a portrait to the left of the fireplace. It was of Violet’s mother just after her marriage, and the artist did a fine job in capturing the subject’s vitality. The soft brown hair was artfully curled and coiffed in the style of the time, but the glow in the woman’s cheeks was rich and natural. High cheekbones and a slender nose did much to convey an aristocratic air. Only the mouth, with the pink lips and the slight curl on the side, just short of a smile, hinted she was someone who laughed easily and often. Violet remembered that laugh from very long ago.
Kenyon rose to examine it more closely. “Ah, I think I can see the resemblance.” He turned to Violet. “Would you humor an old man, and pose next to the portrait? My eyes are not what they once were.”
If so, he must have once possessed the eyes of an eagle. Violet didn’t think he missed a thing the whole visit.
Violet joined him at the portrait, and let him compare the image and herself.
“You’re older now than she was when this was painted,” Kenyon said. “But I imagine you were the mirror image. But no, your mother had blue eyes. You must have your father’s eyes.”
Violet smiled. “Yes, sir, I do. As well as his interests, which he shared with me through my childhood.”
“You must miss them very much,” he said softly, looking keenly at her, “for your own eyes to be so glassy now.”
Judith joined them, afraid to leave the conversation to Violet. “Can I offer you more tea, Mr Kenyon?”
“No,” he said. “But I would like speak to Lady Violet for a few moments. Perhaps a brief turn around the garden. Alone.”
Judith’s thoughts were plain. She wanted to hear everything, yet she didn’t dare annoy the man, who could easily quash all her careful maneuvering. “Why, certainly. If Violet is not too tired.”
Violet said, “I would be glad to, Mr Kenyon.”
Coats and hats were fetched, and soon they were in the gardens. Although the winter day was brisk, it wasn’t too cold, and the fresh air was a pleasure.
When they were out of earshot of Judith, Kenyon said, still in that mild voice, “Avoiding her conversation is reason enough to accept any proposal.”
Violet wholeheartedly agreed, but she couldn’t let him insult her family, no matter how correct he was. “I am grateful that my aunt and uncle have taken me in,” she said. “If not for them, my situation would likely be far less comfortable than it is now.”
He nodded. “They should be grateful to have such a well-spoken young lady in their home.”
“Was there something in particular you wished to discuss, Mr Kenyon? Something you felt my aunt would not be qualified to answer?”
He gave her a brief smile. “It was evident to me that you were not aware at all of the arrangements made by your aunt.” He did away with the fiction that Uncle Roger was in any way involved.
“No,” she said. “Of course, she has been attempting to arrange my marriage for some time, and with particular zeal since the death of my cousin, Madeline Peake. I was her companion while she was ill, you see. I fully expected news of a match at some point. Though…” she stopped.
“You also expected to meet the gentleman in person first.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“I thought so. So I must ask candidly: do you wish to marry the duke? He would hate to think you were forced into it. And he would not be insulted if you were to tell me now, in confidence, that you have doubts.” He saw her expression and hurried on, “Don’t have any fear about your aunt. I would certainly devise a story which leaves you innocent of her wrath.”
“Before I can reply to that,” said Violet. “I wonder if I might ask a few questions about the duke, since he could not be here himself?”
“Please do, but,” here he raised a hand to forestall her, “let me answer your first question before you ask it. All the Kenyon men are incredibly handsome, as my own appearance proves!”
Violet laughed at that, and thought Herbert Kenyon must have been quite dashing in his youth.
“I thank you for the information, sir. But looks are a poor measure of suitability, and I should not like to base a decision on something so fleeting.”
“Wise words, my lady,” Kenyon said, more soberly.
Violet paused, collecting her thoughts. She knew so little of the duke, it was hard to know where to begin.
“He lives close to London?”
“Yes. It’s a beautiful estate in Kent, well cared for and quite sufficient to support the duke and his family. The house, Dunmere Abbey, is quite impressive.”
“And how…old is he?” she asked timidly.
“Thirty-four.”
“Thirty-four,” she repeated. “May I ask why he has not married before now?”
Kenyon frowned for a split second. “Your family has not told you about the situation at all?”
“Situation? No.”
“He has married before,” Kenyon said, after a slight hesitation. “He is a widower.”
“Does he have a child?”
“No. He does have charge of a ward. Millicent Sherwood is a second cousin, and sixteen years old. But he has no children of his own.”
Violet nodded. So Dunmere needed an heir. And Violet had sufficient pedigree to qualify as a suitable wife, though… “Are you certain he does not consider me too old?” she asked.
“He views the prospect of a nineteen year old wife with horror,” Mr Kenyon said. “He values competence and good moral character above a pretty face.”
“Ah.”
“Though, if I may flatter you for a moment, Lady Violet, your face is prettier than the miniature portrait conveyed.”
Violet looked down, unused to flattery of any sort. “If your nephew is half so kind as you, I should expect to be quite content. Can you tell me something of his character…his personality, that is?”
“I can tell you I am proud of him,” Kenyon began. “He is, of course, very conscious of his lineage and his name. He assumed the title just over five years ago on his father’s death. Before that he was Earl of Waring. He has always been most proper in his dealings with people. Though he traveled abroad very frequently until last year or so, he pays attention to his favorite home—that’s the Abbey—and has improved it considerably. Not that it was in poor condition before, but he’s a careful steward.”
Violet said, “Why did he travel so much? Does he have interests abroad? Uncle Roger spent some of his youth in Antigua, on his family’s sugar plantation there.”
“Well, his grace does not own land in the new world. His travels mostly took him to Europe, and I am not privy to his reasons. I do know that he was always happy to come home.”
“It sounds as if he has all he needs.”
“Except a wife to share it with,” Kenyon countered. “Owning half the earth would get quite dull if one had to roam it alone.”
“I see.” Violet wasn’t sure she did understand, but she thought that she might begin to. The duke actually sounded rather lonely.
“He is a good man,” Kenyon said in conclusion. “And he would treat you honorably, I assure you.”
She took a deep breath, considering. Accepting a proposal sight unseen might be mad…but it also might be the best decision she could make to improve her life. “Then I agree to the proposal,” Violet said. “I hope I will not disappoint him.”
Kenyon told her she had nothing to fear. In fact, he said those very words in such a way that Violet wondered—too late—if there was something to fear. Yet how could she ask such a question immediately after agreeing to a marriage?
“I expect to meet the duke before the wedding,” she said quickly.
“Naturally! He would not neglect such an important step. It is merely an inconvenience that called him away.”
They walked back to the house. At hearing of the successful agreement, Judith was all smiles, and practically doted on Mr Kenyon. Uncle Roger, who looked as if he’d a few glasses of wine while they were out, also added his slightly slurred congratulations.
Kenyon took his leave, again bowing to Violet. Judith could barely wait till the door closed to sigh in relief.
“Ah, that’s done. The words are spoken, and we may as well start packing your trunks, Violet,” her aunt said. “You performed better than I hoped, I do say. Look at you! Soon to be the wife of the Duke of Dunmere. And I’m told he’s a very striking man, despite his injury.”
“Injury?” Violet asked, puzzled.
“Lost his eye. He wears a patch now. Not that it will matter in the dark,” her aunt added crudely.
Violet winced. She had only the slightest notion what Judith’s words actually meant, but the whole tone made her shiver. The eye must have been what Mr Kenyon was referring to when he asked if she knew about the situation. Well, she had been honest. Looks mattered little to her. All she wanted was a life far from this house. Whoever this duke was, and no matter why he was so odd in his method of courtship, he was her path out.
* * * *
That evening, the Peakes enjoyed the special supper intended for the duke. It was recast by Judith as a celebratory family meal—mainly celebrating her own success as a matchmaker and businesswoman.
“All my hard work and faith rewarded,” she said ecstatically. “Nearly everything occurred just as he said. Oh, I knew it. Once you see the path laid before you, all that remains is to walk down it.”
“Who said?” Violet asked.
Judith glanced at her husband, who was well into a rather full glass of brandy. Then she said, “Just one of my good friends in London, you know. Mr Hanchett always gives me the very best advice.”
“He’s one of your little club,” Violet concluded. Judith had long chased fads relating to the occult, and she was forever trying out new ways to divine the future or the past or other people’s purses. Violet went on, “What was it this time? Cards? Divination by smoke? Did someone see me married to the duke in dark water by midnight?”
“It is rude to mock another’s interests,” Judith said, “especially as those interests have helped secure your marriage. If you followed my friends, you would know quite a lot more about the world than you do.”
“I am quite content to study the world I see through the lens of my telescope,” Violet retorted. “Papa taught me how beautiful the night sky was all on its own. Must you always look for meaning beyond that? Isn’t it enough to see the beauty of the world?”
“My little Violet.” Judith took a gulp of wine from her own rather full glass. “You look, but you do not see. That’s the difference between us!”
Not the only one, Violet thought. Aloud, she said, “Please excuse me.”
She rose and made her way to her room. She positioned her telescope, put on a heavy robe, and opened the casement window. Cold air rushed in, but Violet didn’t care. It was the only way to see properly through the instrument.
Someday she’d have a real observatory. Her father had one built at the old family home, long ago. Violet promised herself that she’d replicate it someday. She renewed that promise whenever she had to suffer in the cold for hours as she worked. Lovely summer nights were one thing, but it took true dedication to stargaze in winter. Yet the sky changed throughout the whole year, and she wanted to understand all of it. So she ignored the icy breeze, and the freezing cold metal of the telescope barrel. She only saw stars, and she talked to herself as she made notes about her study.
The winter sky was absolutely clear, with none of the haze that sometimes rose up in warmer, more humid weather. Now the stars shone steadily, barely winking as she gazed through her scope. The faint tinge of blues or reds marked each star she gazed at, making them as familiar as old friends. And there… She smiled as she set the viewfinder on the slightly blurry object she was looking for. Its smudged appearance wasn’t the fault of the glass. Violet suspected it was the tail of a comet, just beginning to grow more visible as the object neared the sun.
“Please let the next few nights be clear,” she whispered. She so wanted to find a comet of her own.
No matter what, she swore, she’d never give up her study of astronomy. This man she was newly betrothed to wouldn’t know a thing about the night sky, and he probably wouldn’t care. But he couldn’t stop Violet from pursuing the one thing that made her happy.