Page 58 of Untaming Lady Violet
But the ploy worked. In the bustling cluster of guests, Lawrence successfully led her to the outer terrace without Gadley witnessing their escape.
“There. That was a bit of sport, wasn’t it?” Lawrence crowed, his chest puffing out slightly with his success.
“Most certainly. How clever you are, Mister Buchanan,” Violet replied, catching her breath. “I may make use of your skills for the rest of the evening.”
“At your service, my lady.” Lawrence swept a deep bow, giving her a grin before pressing a kiss to the top of her gloved hand. “Now, to avoid talk of impropriety, I shall return to the parlor. You recall how to reenter the house, correct? Go down these steps toward the rose garden path, and the main hall entrance is just beyond the conservatory. You may slip back into the house and return to the dance with no one the wiser. And if you don’t return, I’ll simply relay to my aunt that you were not feeling well after our waltz and retired for the evening.”
“You are exceedingly kind,” Violet said in earnest.
Lawrence laughed and gave her a wink. “Longleigh would have my head if I treated you in any other fashion.”
Once Lawrence left her on the terrace, Violet stood for several moments, debating what to do next. The sounds of the gala were still discernible, courtesy of the terrace doors being flung open. That no other guests ventured out to enjoy the pleasant night air was somewhat surprising. The far-reaching glow of the moon was bright, so bright one could easily make out the tall hedges of the rose garden in the distance, the gravel stone pathways bathed in ghostly white.
Would it be so terrible not to return to the gaiety of the dance? She could stroll through the garden. See the fountain sparkle in the moonlight. Listen to the crickets and attempt to solve their mysterious message. Stare at the stars while tracing their pattern with a forefinger. All could be done before retiring to her room.
And accomplished in the most solitary fashion. Which made Violet unaccountably sad.
What enjoyment could be found looking at stars, or strolling garden paths if one did so alone?
Feminine voices interrupted her thoughts. On another portion of the terrace where the open doors created a rather private alcove, two young women stood with their backs to the gardens. Side-by-side, they watched the dancing while sipping lemonade.
Violet immediately recognized one as Lady Fiona by her profile and the upsweep of gleaming blonde hair. The other, a Miss Patricia Clipperson, had arrived just that afternoon with her widowed mother. Violet was only marginally acquainted with the young lady.
“Well, he certainly seems to be over the duchess. He’s hardly given her a moment’s notice tonight, other than accepting that little peck on the cheek she gave him. Did you see how fiercely Richeforte glared? However, when he shook Longleigh’s hand afterward, I think he almost looked apologetic.”
“Of course, he’s over her. Longleigh was never in love with her,” Fiona huffed, snapping her fan shut with a flick of her wrist. “That was simply a momentary infatuation, its ending hastened when Richeforte stole Her Grace for himself. Longleigh was over her in less time than it takes to snap one’s fingers. Now, his attention is centered elsewhere.”
“Obviously,” Patricia laughed. “It has been placed square on Lady Violet.”
“Don’t be absurd. The viscount is completely enamored with me. Although we must keep our love secret,” Fiona countered, her tone tight with annoyance.
“Truly?” Patricia’s skepticism was obvious. “Longleigh appears fascinated by the Everstone girl. Which is quite odd, considering she always appears as if she might faint dead away if anyone so much as winks in her direction.”
“Don’t be fooled by our little façade, dear.” Fiona’s laugh was shrill. “That wallflower is simply a convenient ruse to keep attention off us.”
When Fiona gripped the other girl’s forearm, Violet’s own hands clenched into fists. Her fingernails dug through the gloves until half-moon imprints were left on her palms.
“Longleigh pleaded that I go along with this little deception. At least until our parents finalize the details of our engagement. It’s all so very complicated, you see. I only agreed because his sister despises me, despite my efforts to befriend her. Celia will do anything to keep us apart, so secrecy is a must. She’s held such high hopes that Lady Violet would become Viscountess Longleigh, and eventually, the Countess of Darby. But rest assured, any attention he shows that insipid girl is to satisfy his sister. Nothing more.”
Violet bit back a moan.Whatever Fiona says can’t possibly be true. It can’t be.
“Your subterfuge is working, then. But, Fiona, I’ve only witnessed Richeforte, and perhaps the Earl of Ravenswood, regard a woman with the same intensity as Longleigh exhibits while watching Lady Violet. He stares at her as if he might devour her at any moment. Or drag her off to his bed. I’ve never really noticed before because, I mean, she’s such a shy thing, but she really is very lovely.” Patricia took a contemplative sip of lemonade. “Several of the gentlemen seem rather taken with her.”
A sound of complete aggravation escaped Fiona.
“Well, that shows how much you know, Patricia. Longleigh can barely stand that quiet, plump mouse, but he does what is necessary for our future together. I can depend on you to keep our secret, can I not?”
As the music changed to a fast-paced polka, the women began moving away.
“I won’t tell a soul. But still, I can hardly believe it…” Patricia shrugged, her words trailing off.
Could Tristan and Fiona really be in love?
A feeling of numbness settled over Violet. It wasn’t true. Not after everything Tristan had said to her. Had done with her willing participation. Not when he kissed her with such desperate sweetness.
He could not be that duplicitous.
She refused to believe it.
