Page 101 of Hearts of Locke Hill

Heat crept up his neck. He glanced at Ruby, who bit her lip and grinned.

“Daughter,” Papa said, reaching for Ruby’s hand now and giving her a sideways glance. “Your brother might be in need of help. I believe your friends are perfect for the job.”

“I could not agree more, Papa.”

Finally, Cy found his tongue. “Father, she … Violet …” He swallowed. “She asked me to give you her love.”

Papa nestled back deeper into his pillows, studying Cyril intently. “Well then. I must ask you to give her ours.”

Chapter 25

Violet knew of only one way to settle her whirling thoughts when nothing else would do it. Well, two, if she counted a good game of chess.

Just now, only a run would do.

Half an hour later, wearing the same overwrap she’d worn over her bathing costume and carrying a satchel with her running shoes, she hurried past the pool house to where the path intersected with the one leading to the foothills. Her heart hammered, as she’d never dared run in daylight, but there were few people about this time of day, and she’d sent a note to Trent letting him know of her plan.

As she reached the trees, he waved from a large, blooming linden tree, its heavenly scent greeting her from within its broad new leaves.

“Thank you for meeting me, Trent. I knew you wouldn’t want me to go running off without someone knowing my whereabouts.”

“Indeed not, miss. And considering you’re the head of the athletics department, I’d say it’s high time the school knows what you’re capable of anyhow.”

“If only it were that simple. My being capable is one thing.My being judged as a hoyden—or worse—anathlete, well …” She shuddered dramatically, and Trent chuckled.

“Truly,” she said as she tugged on her shoes, “I’m not overmuch concerned until I imagine what my father would say—what hewillsay—if he catches me lolloping about like a deer.”

He chuckled at that. “Aye, miss. If I may say so, it boggles the mind that he continues to be surprised by his own daughter. Such as you are.”

She paused. “Such as I am?”

He only lifted his brow.

“All right, then.” She stood, taking a deep, shuddering breath and shaking her unsteady hands. “Trent, Mr. Burke’s father isn’t doing well.” She swallowed hard. “Pneumonia.”

“I’m right sorry to hear that. If his father is anything like Mr. Burke, he’s a fine gentleman.”

Violet gazed at the hill that was her goal. “He is. One of the best.” She blinked away the emotion blurring her vision and bounced on her feet. “All right. Here we go.”

“Take care for buried rocks on the trail. They’d twist an ankle quick.”

She nodded. And she was off.

She kept her focus on the trees and sky drawing her on, instead of the meadows to her left. Cool air touched her bare skin. Her muscles warmed as they engaged the long climb up the hill, the muddied spots now dry or just damp. Often, she looked down, to be careful of her steps but also to wonder in the miracle that was the human body, grateful she could fill her capacity in such a way. Running was taken for granted when one was a child. She had been fond of it then. She gloried in it now.

Once she reached the top, she stopped running and placed her hands on her hips, drawing deep breaths. She took in thesight of the rising tower before her and its fragrant, green surroundings, all lit by the warm sun. Such a contrast to her heavier thoughts and the dark emotions she fought to suppress. Bending forward at the waist, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook away the mixed weight of memories, recent and ancient. After a long exhalation, she pushed forward and entered the tower.

Violet paused, taking in the space where she’d sought shelter with Cyril. Where they’d kissed. Where they’d fought. She glanced upward and climbed the curving steps. In all her history of climbing this tower, she’d seldom paused to consider the condition of a structure built centuries ago and abandoned to the elements. Her mother’s family had always seen to its general upkeep—merely an annual grooming. But the fortitude of the stones beneath her feet struck her this time. Bits of crumbled rock and mortar dusted each riser. Her gritty steps echoed with the sound of her breathing.

At last, she reached the crenelated lookout and stepped into the sun. She lifted her face to find the stable block in the distance, where the students’ mounts would be kept. As she noted how small the fenced yards looked from her viewpoint, Violet’s last exchange with Cyril’s father came to mind. It was nothing significant, really. Last autumn she’d been riding Cirrus, her dapple gray, taking him through his jumps at Kinthwaite’s stable yards. Mr. Burke must’ve had some business with her father, because both men ambled by. While her father kept walking, Mr. Burke paused, leaning his forearm on the corral fence, and watched a few moments until Father called him along. Mr. Burke tipped his hat to her, and she’d grinned and nodded in return. The simple act had lightened the rest of her exercise.

Violet’s throat tightened as she crossed the lookout and folded her arms atop the parapet. She had the entire view to herselftoday, but it had blurred into one of Monsieur Monet’s paintings. Poplars and haystacks and such, in watery light. Her arms moved to her stomach with a tight grip as her throat burned with the thought of a world without Benjamin Burke in it. She knew too well what life without Cyril had been. And now Mr. Burke? He was so much a tether. A tether to herbefore. A tether to hope. A tether to what family was—what it could be.

The terseness of her argument with Cyril over Lord Buckley came back to her with full clarity. Cyril had argued on herbehalf—over concern that she might not be able to have the position they were competing for. Because he knew how much it meant to her. Then they’d tormented one another—in a number of ways—in the tower during the storm. Instead of rebuilding the foundation for friendship or whatever it was humming between the both of them so that she might’ve been there for him in such a time as this, she’d added another battle to their ongoing war. He’d had every right to leave without a word when she’d confronted him at Pimms Mill. He was carrying the full burden of the possibility of losing his father upon his shoulders.

And he would carry it alone, taking it on for his mother and his siblings as much as he could.

She’d given him no reason to trust her with sharing it.