Page 15 of The Devil and the Heiress
Her parents wanted her to host dinner parties and show Mrs. Astor that they were very much worthy of her guest list. Again, nothing serious or real. If they had their way, she would live her life as an ornament. She would be pretty and mild and never utter a word that would cause anyone the slightest discontent.
For the past few years, she had suffered under the illusion that both were possible. That she could somehow be what they wanted while also holding on to the thread of who she was. But an impasse was ahead. She could choose herself, or she could lose herself completely. Both were not possible.
•••
The next day dawned dark and dreary, pushing the afternoon garden party that had been planned indoors. Violet had to fight to find any sort of enthusiasm for the gathering. With the exception of a few guests, it was an entirely different set of mothers and daughters than those who had attended the small gathering Mother had held two days prior. Now that the news of August and Rothschild’s romantic escape had begun to leak, the Crenshaws were more popular than ever, and Mother couldn’t have been more pleased. Violet, however, simply wanted to be left to wallow in the ache of rejection.
Had the manuscript been badly written, or had it been rejected because she was a silly woman who couldn’t possibly write anything of interest? Had the subject matter been too provocative? A lighthearted look at the eccentricities of New York’s elite could be problematic, but Violet had kept it witty and good-natured in the hopes of overcoming that. Apparently, she had failed. Perhaps Mrs. Graham had only been exceedingly polite in encouraging her writing. She had been paid well by Papa to tutor both Violet and August. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that she might have exaggerated her enthusiasm. But August had read Violet’s work, and she wouldn’t lie to her... would she?
These questions and more plagued her throughout the afternoon. By the time everyone had gathered in the entrance hall to pull on capes and gloves, she was ready to spend a few precious hours alone in her room in the company of Jane Eyre.
“It was lovely to see you again,” said Lady Alfred.
Violet shook herself from her reverie and made her smile especially bright. “And you as well. I look forward to seeing you again at the Worthingtons’ ball.”
The woman nodded, already turning her attention to Mother, when her daughter, Lady Beatrice, screeched, “Mypin!” She patted her chest in a display of dramatics as she searched for it. “I have lost it!” Lady Beatrice had made a point of showing everyone the gold-encrusted emerald she had recently inherited from her grandmother. It had likely been left in the drawing room, having been neglected after being passed around.
“I’ll go find it for you.” Violet was quick to volunteer before Mother could call out to a footman. Perhaps by the time she returned the crowd would have thinned and she would be spared an endless round of pleasantries.
She stepped into the drawing room and pulled the door behind her for a moment of welcome silence. The emerald bauble winked from its abandoned position on a table across the room. Retrieving it, she sank down onto a sofa and closed her eyes, happy for a moment alone. The headache she had awoken with thanks to her tears and fitful sleep the night before was pounding behind her eyes, but it seemed to lessen each time the front door opened and closed as another visitor left. Perhaps she would plead a headache tonight and forgo the theater outing her parents had planned. It would give her time to think of what to do next.
“Good afternoon, Miss Crenshaw.”
Her eyes flew open at the sound of the male voice. Lord Ware stood before her. She noticed immediately that he was between her and the closed door. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled pleasantly. “I arrived a little before your party ended. Mrs. Crenshaw had the footman show me to the salon.” He indicated the open door leading to the adjoining salon.
Mother hadn’t said a word about his arrival, but they’d had guests. Anger threaded with a tiny bit of fear churned within her as she rose to her feet. He didn’t appear threatening, but she didn’t like the fact that she was alone with him. He knew that it was improper, and yet he had approachedher. Was Lord Leigh right? Was Lord Ware planning something inappropriate?
She almost forced a smile, but then she stopped herself. Why force it? She didn’t particularly like him, and it would be prudent that he knew it. Some instincts were difficult to deny, but not this one. Narrowing her gaze at him, she said, “You should return to the salon. I’ll be with you as soon as I see my guests out.”
He stiffened in surprise, but he didn’t move. “Actually, I am happy to have a moment alone. Without your mother. There’s something I want to speak with you about.”
Surely not a marriage proposal. She edged away. “What would that be?”
“Your behavior last night was very naughty, Miss Crenshaw. Lady Helena said that you were with her, but I saw you leave alone. A lady should not be unescorted at a ball, especially in untraversed parts of a house.”
“Well, I am hardly a lady,” she snapped. It was terrible of her, but she couldn’t stand the idea of being berated by the likes of him. The cut of his gaze scraped along her jaw and down to her bosom, making her long to cross her arms over her chest to hide herself from him.
“No, not yet, perhaps,” he said. “But you will be.”
There was such dark promise in those words that a chill whispered down her spine. Last night, Hereford had been so cold with Camille, his words like ice. She had no doubt that similar behavior would be in store for her if Lord Ware was her future.
“And how is that?” she asked.
He gave her a bland smile. “I understand that you were brought up in a different way, but we do things otherwise here. There are... tutors, if you will, women we can hire to make certain you learn what you need to know.”
It sounded as if he intended to give her etiquette lessons and comportment tutors. Her heart pounded so hard that she could hear it in her ears. On a whim she said, “Youshould know that I intend to pursue a career as a writer.” There. He couldn’t tutor that out of her.
He laughed, but it lacked warmth. “There will be plenty of time to discuss the future, when it comes to it.”
“But there will be no future without my writing. I want to be clear on that.” She watched his Adam’s apple drop as he swallowed. If she could make him understand that, then perhaps he would take his interest elsewhere.
“Respectable ladies do not participate in a trade. Ladies may indulge in hobbies, of course, but they always, before anything else, conduct themselves respectfully.”
“And what happens when I am less than respectful?”
The corner of his mouth pinched as if the very idea of it caused him some sort of pain. “Then you will be corrected, until you understand your error. But never fear, Miss Crenshaw, you are intelligent for a woman. I have no doubts in your ability to catch on quickly.”
