Page 64 of The Devil and the Heiress
“You mean besides Thomas?” Wasn’t the one footman enough?
“Well, yes.” His expression indicated that it was only expected. “You will need footmen to serve at the table when you entertain and to assist your guests.”
She took in a breath, certain that Winston might very well be moved to resign on the spot once she explained. “I am well aware of the custom, but I have decided not to honor the tradition. Maids can serve my guests just as well as footmen.”
“But... you... milady.” His mouth closed as the battle raged within him. His need for continued employment won, so he bowed. “Of course.”
Her voice gentled. “You will find me to be a very generous and caring employer once we discover our way together.”
“I expected nothing less, milady.”
Nodding, she added, “I would also like the names of several firms with experience in renovations. I would like to see this home restored as soon as possible. Perhaps even new livery. In this I will be appreciative of your expertise and judgment.”
That seemed to meet with his approval as his shoulders relaxed. “Of course, milady.”
“That will be all for now.”
He bowed and left her.
For the first time that day, a genuine smile touched her lips as she inspected the room. This would be her home, and if Christian’s words were true, she would have the funds to make it her own. There would be no one to second-guess her choices, no one to tell her no. Now she understood why Helena had chosen not to remarry. She could get used to this freedom.
But could she get accustomed to the loneliness? The bed was freshly made, the bedspread likely a sunny yellow damask that had faded to brown, nearly matching the wallpaper downstairs. Was this the bedding Christian had used when he slept here? Would she feel the imprint his body left in the mattress? Would he ever hold her again? No, she couldn’t allow her thoughts to take her down that dark path.
Her exploration revealed a package wrapped in the finest paper she had ever seen set on the table near the window. A large red ribbon held it all together. Picking up the note set on top of it, she read:
My dearest Violet,
A belated birthday gift along with my regrets for not celebrating as we should have.
All my love,
C
Tears filled her eyes as she touched her chest where the locket rested beneath her clothing. She wore it still because she couldn’t forget the morning he had given it to her, nor how she had felt, dumbstruck and silly with her love for him. A terrible but true way to describe the sheer bliss that had surrounded them. Blinking away the tears, she unwrapped the package revealing four books:Jane Eyre,Wuthering Heights,Agnes Grey, andThe Tenant of Wildfell Hall. A quick examination revealed them to be all first editions.
Dropping into the chair, she read his note again two more times. Her finger traced theC. As much as she despised what he had done, she couldn’t stop herself from missing him.
•••
The next several weeks saw Violet writing madly on her story about the American heiress in London. She had thought the anguish would distract her or make her too melancholy to write, but in fact, the exact opposite happened. She wrote whole chapters over a matter of days, when before it would have taken her weeks. It was as if every bit of sadness she felt was infused in her pen and served as the fuel to push it across the paper. Much to her surprise, she found herself focusing on the budding romance between Lord Lucifer and Rose Hamilton instead of the larger social commentary she had originally planned. She wrote every part of them on the page, holding nothing back, not even the parts she knew she would have to edit out or be forced to wear the modern equivalent of a redAon her chest. On the pages, she could control their story as she could not control her own.
Her own story was not turning out quite so well. She and Christian attended several balls and theater events together. They always arrived separately because Violet had insistedupon it. She still didn’t trust herself to be near him, and the request wasn’t that out of the ordinary. Most fashionable couples spent the evenings out, following their own pursuits, coming together at one function or another for appearances. It wasn’t lost on her that her own marriage, despite her best intentions, had become like theirs. Living a life separate from her husband was not how she had ever envisioned her future, and in fact was why she had so rebelled against her parents’ plans for her.
Except Christian was not Lord Ware or Hereford. He had not imposed himself upon her. He had not issued any restrictive edicts that would see her life curtailed to suit his whims. According to Max, he had not attempted to touch Aunt Hortense’s home. Her situation could be exponentially worse, which is why she didn’t allow herself to linger on those thoughts. In the evenings she wrote, and in the daytime she turned her attention toward renovations, choosing wallpaper, varnish, and furniture to make the Belgravia house a home.
Only in the past several days had she begun to suspect that adding a nursery would need to be prioritized very soon. Her courses had not appeared since before she had left for Windermere, she felt tired more than usual, and her breasts ached in a way they never had before. The prospect of having a child—Christian’s child—filled her with as much happiness as it did uncertainty. They had never talked about children except for that day when he had told her about his injury. Would he welcome the news? Would he see it as another burden? How could she even tell him now with this terrible rift between them?
None of this was ever how she had imagined her life to be.
The suspicion weighed heavy on her mind as she sat trying to pay attention to the operaLohengrinwith Christian beside her. Her parents sat in the row in front of them with Lord and Lady Ashcroft, who had been gracious ininviting them all to share their box. Helena and her brother, Lord Rivendale, sat on her other side. Despite appearances, she had not spoken to her parents at any length, nor did she plan to in the near future, and Max was due to leave soon for New York. She exchanged letters with August often, but it wasn’t the same as having her sister here. She was very alone in this. Besides, sharing her suspicion with them could not compare to the joy she wished to share with Christian.
He sat beside her, stiff and formal. His thigh was only inches from her, reminding her of how they had sat in the carriage and how he had invited her next to him. She had luxuriated in his touch that day. Even now there was a part of her that screamed out for him. That was the part that frightened her. She would tell him when she was certain, but she was afraid that her irrepressible feelings for him would overpower her. If she told him before knowing her own mind, surely she would be lost to him again. It was best to wait.
She glanced to her right only to find him not watching the opera at all. His gaze was on her instead. It was not the first time she had noticed. When the music lowered, she leaned over and whispered, “The performance is on the stage.” She tried not to take in his scent, but it was too late. Even as her mind rebelled, her instincts sought the remembered comfort of him.
“I prefer this view,” he said without taking his eyes from her.
She stared at him fully, noting the intensity of his eyes and how they pulled her in. It was like that between them every single time she saw him. Him drawing her to him without even trying, and her attempting to keep her sanity. Even when she looked away she could feel the heat he emanated, could remember the way his touch felt, and her hand would ache to find his. Would such a small comfort compromise her so deeply?
