Page 14 of More or Less a Countess
Again, there was nothing ugly in her tone—no rancor or disgust—she was simply making an observation. Nick’s lips twitched, and for the first time since she’d entered the drawing room, he forgot about the cobwebs. “No? Well, perhaps you’ll change your mind by the time I’ve taken my leave.”
She considered this, then offered him a polite smile. “No, I don’t think so. You may as well take your leave now. Good afternoon, Lord Dare.”
And then with a sweep of blue skirts she was gone, leaving a cobweb floating on the air and Nick, open-mouthed, behind her.
Chapter Four
Several days later
“Violet! For goodness’ sake, child. Must you push your food about the plate in that disgusting manner? William, clear Miss Violet’s place.”
Lady Chase nodded at the footman, who stepped forward and whisked Violet’s plate away while her fork was still hovering over her eggs. Violet blinked, then tossed her napkin onto the table with a sigh. “My breakfast seems to have vanished. I do hope my tea will linger long enough for me to taste it.”
She’d been living in her grandmother’s Bedford Square townhouse for two years now, and should have long since learned to hold her tongue in the face of the old lady’s quirks, but she’d never been as good at it as her sisters were, perhaps because she was far too much like Lady Chase for either of their comfort.
But she had too much to do today to waste time fussing over vanishing eggs, so she gave her grandmother a bland smile and shoved her chair back from the table, ready to flee to the old schoolroom and work on her book, as she did every day.
Before she could escape, however, Lady Chase’s gnarled claw clamped down on her wrist. “Just where do you suppose you’re going, miss?”
“I thought I’d, ah…go to my bedchamber to work on my embroidery.”
Violet had told this lie so often the prickle of guilt she used to feel whenever it left her lips had become nothing more than the merest twinge of conscience, mild and easily dismissed. She did wonder, though, why Lady Chase never became suspicious when she failed to produce any embroidery.
“Never mind that today. I’ve arranged for us to visit my modiste this morning.”
Most young ladies would be delighted to spend the morning choosing silks, satins, and lace to be made up into dozens of beautiful gowns, but not Violet. As soon as she heard the word “modiste,” her mouth went dry and her stomach threatened to disgorge the few bites of egg she’d managed to eat. “Why should you need me to go?”
“To begin fittings for your next season, of course. We must secure Madame Bell before the usual parade of mindless chits descend on her after the holidays. I think pink and yellow for your gowns this year, Violet, with perhaps a pale blue one here and there for—”
“No.” Violet recoiled from her grandmother’s words just as she would from a fist aimed at her face. “No.”
“What, no blue? But it’s so flattering with your eyes—”
“No season.” Despite the deep breath she’d drawn, there was a tremor in Violet’s voice. “We agreed I would be required to endure one season only.”
“Yes, well, I only agreed to that ridiculous condition because I expected a young lady with your pretty face and substantial fortune would secure an earl in your first season, or at the very least a viscount. But here we are, Violet, so unless you’ve got a husband tucked away in the attics, I suggest you reconcile yourself to a morning at Madame Bell’s.”
“No. I don’t want a viscount, or an earl, or even a duke, and a second season isn’t going to change that. I don’t intend to ever repeat that dreadful experience.”
“Youwillrepeat it until you’re married, and no arguments, miss.”
Violet’s temper was rising in tandem with her panic, and both were threatening to burst into a flood of ugly, hurtful words. She gritted her teeth to hold them in. “No. I’ve made up my mind never to marry, Grandmother.”
“Nonsense, you silly girl. Of course you’ll marry.”
“No, I won’t. I don’t like to disappoint you, but there can be no reason for me to suffer through a second season.”
Violet wasn’t a meek or fearful creature, but nothing of her life in Surrey could have prepared her for the malice and derision she’d faced during her one London season. It had been an utter disaster from start to finish, and so hurtful that even the idea of a second one made her shudder with dread. The only thing that had made it bearable was Iris’s and Honora’s staunch loyalty and support, but they were both married now. If Violet let her grandmother talk her into another season she’d have to endure it alone, with no Iris to soothe her feelings when the other young ladies treated her with mocking disdain, and no Honora to squeeze her hand when the gentlemen snickered at her graceless dancing.
No Lord Derrick,with his encouraging smile and kind brown eyes.
They’d been less than a week into last season when it became clear Violet was destined to become a pitiful wallflower. If it hadn’t beenquiteas awful as she’d dreaded, she had Lord Derrick to thank for it. He’d invited her to dance at every ball, and he’d listened with polite attention when she told him of her studies. He’d been her friend when all the other fashionable gentlemen had treated her as if she were invisible. He’d never mocked her—instead, he’d done all he could to befriend her.
The only thing he hadn’t done—couldn’t do—was fall in love with her.
“Very well, Violet. If you insist on becoming a lonely spinster, I suppose there’s not a thing I can do about it.” Lady Chase gave a careless shrug, but there was a calculating gleam in her eyes. “But I want to have a few gowns made up for the spring for myself. You’ll come with me to the modiste’s, won’t you, dear? Just to help me choose my silks for the season, of course.”
Violet was far too wily not to recognize sneakiness in another, and she shook her head. “I wish I could help you, my lady, but as you know, I’m hopeless with silks and lace. Why, I can’t tell Belgian from Brussels, or jonquil from primrose. Indeed, my temples are throbbing even now, just thinking about it. You’re much better off taking Hyacinth.”
