Page 60 of More or Less a Countess
Violet was under no illusions it would remain quiet. They were mere seconds away from a deafening outburst that would leave all their ears ringing for months to come. They waited only for Lord Dare and Lady Westcott, who’d adjourned to Lord Dare’s study for a private discussion before they joined the rest of the party in the sitting room.
The moment of reckoning had arrived.
Violet had known from the start of this mad scheme the truth would catch up to her at last, but she’d been foolish enough to believe when it did, the only witnesses would be herself and Lord Dare.
Butthis…
Her heart crowded into her throat. In her worst nightmares she’d never imagined it would happen in Lady Westcott’s sitting room, with both his family and hers there to witness her shame.
Lady Chase hadn’t uttered a single word since she’d collapsed onto one of the yellow silk settees, but she was never able to hold her tongue for long, particularly when one of her granddaughters was due for a scolding.
Duping an earl into a false courtship certainly qualified as such an occasion.
“Well, Violet, I do hope you’re pleased with yourself. Just look at poor Lord Huntington! Why, anyone can see he’s on the verge of an apoplexy. If he expires in his sleep tonight and leaves your sister a widow, we’ll have you to thank for it.”
Violet wanted nothing more than for the floor to open beneath her and swallow her whole, but she forced herself to face her grandmother with dry eyes, a straight back, and hands folded neatly in her lap. “I’m sorry, Grandmother.”
And she was—sorrier than she’d ever been in her life—but her misery had more to do with the astonishment on Lord Dare’s face when he discovered her deception than it did with Finn’s imminent demise.
But a simple apology, no matter how heartfelt, wasn’t going to appease her grandmother, who dismissed it with an outraged sniff. “Well, don’t tellme, child. You may offer your apologies to Iris after Lord Huntington drops dead.”
Hyacinth, who after a prolonged search had been discovered hiding in the butler’s pantry, made a faint noise of protest. “As Lord Huntington is still among the living, perhaps we can put aside the matter of his death for a moment. Surely Violet’s first apology should be to Lord Dare?”
An apology, a dozen apologies—it wouldn’t make any difference. As soon as Violet saw his face, she’d known he’d never forgive her.
“Lord Dare and Lady Westcott, yes, though I don’t see why either of them should forgive you, Violet,” Lady Chase snapped. “If Lord Dare had treated you thus, you can be sure I’d demand far more than an apology, but I suppose you’ve gotten your way, haven’t you, miss? He won’t have you now, and neither will any other honorable gentleman once this scandal gets out. You’ll end a spinster, just as you wished.”
Hyacinth slid her fingers into Violet’s hand and squeezed. “It wasn’t just Violet, Grandmother. I deceived them, too—”
“Oh, hush, Hyacinth. What nonsense. You never would have dreamed up such a dreadful scheme yourself. No, I know very well who’s responsible.” Lady Chase pinned Violet with a look that made Violet shrink back against the settee. “I don’t pretend to know why you did it, but whatever your reason, Violet, I hope it was worth it.”
She’d been so sure it would be, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t worth it now, and though Violet hadn’t known it at the time, it hadn’t been worth it at Cockpit Steps, or Execution Dock, or even at the Hunterian Museum. Her beloved book, her sketches—she wouldn’t have believed it was possible anything could matter more to her than that, but she’d been wrong. Her sisters had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened to them, and now her heart was heavy with bitter regret.
The shock in Lord Dare’s gray eyes, the way they’d darkened with hurt…
Nothing was worth that.
Never was that truth more painfully evident than five minutes later, when Lord Dare and Lady Westcott entered the sitting room. Violet managed to keep her chin up as she watched their grim procession, but she faltered once they were all seated and every head in the room turned in her direction. Hyacinth must have felt her begin to tremble, because she wrapped her fingers more tightly around Violet’s.
For what seemed a lifetime to Violet, no one moved. No one spoke, and the silence grew colder and heavier with each passing moment, until at last Lord Dare rose to his feet and approached the settee where Violet and Hyacinth were seated.
“Miss Hyacinth.” He bowed over Hyacinth’s hand, and then he turned to Violet and held out his hand to her, his jaw hard and his lips pressed into a severe line.
Dear God, she could hardly bear to look at him, but he stood there in front of her, silently, his hand held out, waiting for her—they were all waiting for her—and she had no choice but to offer the tips of her gloved fingers.
“And Miss Somerset.” He grasped her hand in his and bowed over it politely, his demeanor proper, his address correct.
Correct, and cold. So cold.
Violet allowed herself one quick look into his eyes, then wished at once she hadn’t. There was nothing but ice in that gray gaze, and an answering shiver darted down her back. She tried to withdraw her hand, but he refused to release her. Instead he urged her to her feet and led her across the room.
“May I present my aunt, Lady Westcott? Aunt, this is Miss Violet Somerset.”
Lady Westcott had a headful of thick silver hair, and between that, the severe elegance of her dress, and her regal mien, she was an intimidating figure. It took every ounce of Violet’s composure, but she made herself meet Lady Westcott’s gaze as she sank into a shaky curtsy.
“My lady. It’s a pleasure to…”
The words died in her throat as she realized the absurdity of them. It wasn’t a pleasure. Not for her, and not for Lady Westcott. Not for any of them.
