Page 33 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“He knew what?” Cyril asked quietly.

Violet’s heated gaze flickered toward him and his dastardly green eyes.

“What did he know, Miss Whittemore?” His velvet voice and searching gaze did nothing to ease the storm inside her.

“Mr. Burke,” she said, her voice low and as threatening as she could manage. “There will be no truce.”

He frowned. She ignored the regret it evoked.

She addressed her father. “You are abysmal at surprises, Father.” Her chin lifted. “And even worse at reading women.”

His eyes flared. “Go to your room,” he blustered.

Her feet were already moving her toward the door. “You’ve already punished me enough,” she said without turning around. “I am my own woman. I have that, at least.” She flashed a look behind her. “I see I’ve failed at being your son.”

As soon as her steps met the corridor, Violet lifted her skirts and rushed to the music room. She was not alone. A flurry of skirts and troubled breaths accompanied her. The familiar air and color and spirit of the room embraced her, and she halted to breathe it all in. The door clicked shut, muffling the shouting from the drawing room, and arms came around her. Her breathing turned to gasping, her nose stung, and she gave way to tears. “I’m such a fool.”

“No, darling.” Florrie.

“It would be foolish not to dream, I think.” Lydia.

“I didn’t know.” Ruby.

All eyes turned to Ruby, who stood, wringing her small hands. Her eyes shone. “I swear I didn’t know. As we went into dinner, he told me your father had offered him a position and that he’d explain later. We didn’t have time.” She stepped forward and grasped Violet’s fingers. “I promise I didn’t know.”

Violet nodded and hung her head. She winced and swiped at her tears. “As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think your brother entirely understood either.” She straightened and sniffled. For the second time that night, she was handed her choice of handkerchiefs.

“What did he say to you,” Ruby asked, “over in the corner?”

Violet inhaled a breath and released it. “He said we would be working together. I thought he meant he would be teaching. I believe he thought the same of me.” She groaned heavily. “My father doesn’t even believe me capable of that.”

What a sad silence it was then. Because nobody argued.

Chapter 8

Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore argued persistently in the corner, Hugh gesturing often toward Cyril with flailing arms. Cyril paced, running his hands through his now-disheveled hair. He was caught between needing to leave the place with some semblance of dignity and wanting to separate Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore as he had Patrick and Henry the other day—but he couldn’t determine who was chasing whom. He overheard Mrs. Whittemore. He could not help it, for she was rather loud.

“I will say this, Hugh. You arequitethe jack-in-the-box.”

Perhaps Cy had misjudged the forthrightness of the couple’s communication.

The butler appeared at his side and spoke quietly. “Sir, I don’t mean to presume, but I brought these in case you wished to leave.” He held Cyril’s hat, driving coat, and gloves. Cyril froze, wondering whether to take them or not.

He turned, and against all the manners he’d been taught, he threw out his hands and spoke loudly enough to be heard. “Would somebody please explain to me what just happened here?”

“—doingwhatI do best. Andthatis totake charge,” Mr. Whittemore finished.

He and Mrs. Whittemore then turned to Cyril expectantly.What they expected, he had no idea. He gestured toward the door where four distressed women had exited in a whirl of consternation and lifted his brow. “What is my role in this?”

Mrs. Whittemore softened her expression and approached as Mr. Whittemore spun away toward the liquor decanters. “I’m not giving an inch,” he grumbled. “I know a good move when I see it.”

“So long as that move is wearing trousers,” Mrs. Whittemore murmured.

Cyril’s mouth opened, wordless.

“Come sit with me, my dear boy, and I shall explain.”

He glanced at Hugh, who motioned toward his wife with his very full cut glass lowball. The butler removed himself with Cyril’s things.