Page 27 of Hearts of Locke Hill

He exhaled slowly, guiding her to the dining room. “No. I did not expect this opportunity. Not so soon, anyway.” Not at all, really.

“You will tell me everything?”

He placed his hand over hers. “Everything.” Though all the Burke brothers were protective of their only sister, Cy knew she was made of sterner stuff. And she hated to be underestimated. “I’ll tell you, then the family.” He willed his smile to be assuring. “All will be well.”

She nodded and grudgingly returned his smile. “I will choose to believe you.”

He chuckled, but as he held out her chair and she took it, he sobered. He only needed to believe it himself.

Chapter 7

Violet watched Cyril with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Why was he here? At her dining table? Why had Father invited him?

He’d sat on Father’s right as a guest of honor. Mama sat at her place at the other end of the table, with Violet at her right. The numbers were off, which made Violet’s nerves twitch, but her friends had been placed between her and the men, and she was grateful the conversation was not stilted, at least. As a matter of fact, Father kept up a steady stream of questions and commentary directed at Cyril, laughing and cajoling as if he saw Cyril as a new colleague. Father did not have friends. He had colleagues.

The thought unnerved her immensely. What had “Sigh” Burke done to deserve such camaraderie from her stoic father?

“Darling, take care,” Mama said quietly, “you look as if you’d like to scratch Mr. Burke’s eyes out.”

Violet schooled her expression and sipped her wine. “Why is he here? I wasn’t aware Father took any interest in the Burkes. We’ve always been relieved at that, considering you-know-what.” She paused. “Perhaps that is what makes me nervous. Always having to be so careful about hiding the extent of my education. And the man father is laughing with at the other end of the table knows everything.”

“Don’t forget,” Mama said, arching her brow, “that man was also heavily involved in that education and would no doubt earn your father’s deep ire should anything of that enterprise be discovered. We can trust Mr. Burke.”

Violet smirked. “We can trust that he would notintentionallylet anything slip. Who’s to say he’s clever enough to keep our prior connections to himself? Look at the way Father is patting him on the back. And Cyril’s mouth keeps making words.”

Mama smiled down at her cutlet. “My dear, perhaps you should pay more attention to your meal and less attention to Mr. Burke’s mouth.”

Violet nearly spit her wine out mid-swallow. The result was a bout of coughing as her drink seemed to flood her sinuses, then attempted to infiltrate her lungs. Sight blurred by tears, she could barely make out four offers of handkerchiefs in front of her. She grabbed one, covering her mouth and willing her body to relax and allow things to make their way where they ought. Unfortunately, her body was as willful as she.

A deep, smooth voice sounded very near to her left. “Stop fighting it and let it take its course.”

Oh, dash it, Cyril was crouched next to her chair as she spewed wine into his handkerchief, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m try”—hack—“ing”—wheeze—

“Put your hands up like this,” Lydia urged, demonstrating by swinging her arms high, toward the ceiling. “It opens up your airways.”

“Somebody pound her back,” Florrie offered. “My nursemaid always did that for me.”

Violet inched her hands toward the ceiling. Florrie had managed to reach her to begin the pounding.

Through her tears and the jerky movements from Florrie’ssurprisingly strong strikes, she caught sight of Mama, whose own handkerchief was clutched to her mouth, her eyes filled with—

Mirth.

Well.Somebodywas enjoying the display.

Mama must have seen that she’d been caught, because the handkerchief was moved and she mouthed “Sorry,” before she had to once more stop herself from laughing aloud.

Violet wished to crawl under the table. Surely that would be more dignified than this …eruptus magnum.

After an eternity of coughing, she experienced enough of a pause to give herself a sense of hope. Mercifully, Florrie eased her whacking, and Violet took the reprieve to dab her eyes with a fresh handkerchief. She may die of humiliation, but not wine inhalation. A glass of water was held before her.

“Sip slowly.”

Oh good, Cyril was taking care of her now. Still, she did as she was told with a shaky hand. After taking several moments to assure that her breathing had steadied, she lifted her gaze.

The entire company, including two footmen, the housekeeper, and a maid—good heavens, what was Cook doing here?—surrounded her, wide-eyed and expectant. Her father looked baffled.

“I’m going to crawl under the table now,” she rasped quietly to nobody in particular.