Page 11 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“Yes. I was coming to find you, before, to ask if you needed me to address anything while I was out.”

“No, I don’t believe so. Just give me a report when you get back. I’m eager to hear your observations.” The sparkle had returned to Mama’s eyes, and Violet felt a great measure of relief. “And try not to worry about your father.”

“That is like asking the farmer not to worry about a frost.”

Mama pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes large. “Oh dear.” She fought to hide her smile, Violet knew.

She shrugged, knowing the lighthearted jab would do her mother’s heart good. “I call a fig a fig, Mama.”

“You do it well, my darling. Strong will be the heart that keeps up with yours.”

“You’ve done it, all these years.”

Mama laughed. “Oh, and what a delightful challenge it has been. Now, go on with you. Give the girls my love.”

Y

Violet’s motorcar, a Rover she called Edwin, hummed beneath her, speeding her body away from her father’s study, but not her thoughts.

Unbidden, her father’s words bounced around in her head.“As if she weren’t odd enough. She should be married, blast it.”

“I have friends, for Hook’s sake,” she muttered as she pulled onto the lane to Briarwall Manor. “I visit and dine and dance, andI am liked.” Of course, she knew she wasn’t the average woman of her age, but what did that signify? To be different—well, weren’t all human beings different from one another? At least, they started out that way. It had confused her, when she’d entered society, that the mothers would list their own daughters’ achievements, whatmade each a standout amongst the other young ladies, and at the same time push those daughters to wear the same styles of the moment, converse on the same dull topics, play the same instruments, compete for the same handful of men with similar social standing.

And the men who had seemed interested in her—well, they had seemed interested to a point. It went something like this: The men would approach, begging for introductions. Then, after several days or minutes, their attentions fizzled and were drawn elsewhere. It was not a great mystery. Violet had opinions she could not help but express, intelligence she refused to hide, and a competitiveness she could not help but indulge. It had been a humiliating, baffling lesson to learn, that the male ego was seldom tolerant of a woman who possessed more brains, wit, or courage than they. But that was years ago, and she’d learned that trying to change who she was for a man brought her more misery than being alone ever would. She’d not given up hoping for love but had also accepted the idea that she might perhaps end up the wittiest, boldest, happiest spinster ever.

Violet honked the horn at a flock of geese settling on the road, the birds swirling up in a flutter to get out of the way.

Odd.She’d looked up the word once, the first time her father had used it in reference to his only daughter. She’d read the definition:Different from what is usual or expected.

And she’d smiled.

She smiled now as she pulled up to Briarwall, the climbing roses greening and budding out against the stone walls. Lydia exited the house and strode to the Rover as a doorman hurried to help her get in.

“Hello.” Lydia settled, a little breathless, her deep brown eyessmiling. Her russet-brown hair forever looked as if it were about to escape its pins.

“Tell me,” Violet said. “Why would I want to marry a man who wanted to marry a woman who molded herself to be like any other woman?”

Lydia blinked. “You wouldn’t.”

“And would you describe me as different from what is usual or expected?”

“Absolutely and wonderfully.”

“Just so,” Violet said with a nod and put the car in gear.

As she sped off, Lydia fell back against her seat, and the sound of their laughter followed them up the lane.

Y

12 and nearly 16

Violet ripped off her cage mask, her breath coming fast. “You’re cheating.”

Cyril straightened and lowered his epee, his white fencing uniform pristine. “How am I cheating?” At least he seemed out of breath as well.

“Your arms are longer than mine.”

He removed his own mask. “That isn’t cheating. It’s just … age difference.” He looked to their master, Mr. Leopold, who was already rubbing his temples, eyes closed.