Page 9 of Hearts of Locke Hill

He arched a brow. “I know.”

After she left, he glanced around, imagining Patrick in thiscupboard of a room with its stairs to the cupola. It was perfect for a boy in need of escape. And Cy was no longer a boy. If his father’s illness grew worse, he could not afford the luxury of escape. Even now, he should not be seeking solace. He needed to increase his family’s income. He’d not been completely honest with his mother. Like his fathers before him, Benjamin Burke had relied on family coffers, investments, and what he could glean from his ever-decreasing land holdings to provide for his family. Younger sons of earlier generations had been educated and found positions in the military, the church, or other suitable fields. The family had a solid reputation for raising respectable, contributing members of society. His grandfather had sold the London house to recover from a lost investment, but his father had managed to retain Eventide—a holding in Chichester, which was let, and anyway, had become Oscar’s when he’d reached his majority.

But just last week, when all seemed bright and stable, Cyril, Oscar, and his father had each significantly invested in Spencer Hayes’s motor supply shops, with dividends coming years down the road. Cyril continued to feel strongly about the success of that venture. Still, with the houses in disrepair, tutors, university, clothing, the general running of the small estate, not to mention Ruby’s dowry and the hated, nagging feeling that his father’s illness was not a passing cold, Cy worried. And now thisominousproperty.

Perhaps they could sell it. Perhaps it was prosperous.

Perhaps it was a ruin and he would be taking over taxes on it.

He sighed. Cyril had been given an excellent education. He had experience. He enjoyed what he’d pursued at university.

Why had he not put it to use? Tradition? Social standing? Ego? When he could be earning a stable income to be used as a buffer when things became worrisome? And what kind ofexample was he setting for his younger brothers? Oscar seemed to float from one idea of his future to another, and George had rarely been serious about anything. Cy wasn’t even certain George would stick to the doctor idea. Perhaps if they saw the heir take up his future life by the reins, they might sense the urgency to do so themselves.

The Burke men had a more important tradition than living a comfortable life of the landed gentry:

Family.

Many men his age were making something of themselves. Something of the world around them. Things were changing. Spencer Hayes’s zeal for whatcould bewas contagious. Even Cy’s staunchly conservative friend, Andrew Wooding, had relented that some changes could not be fought.

Cyril had been a spectator. It was time to be a participant.

He wasn’t naive enough to believe, even in these modern times, that joining the workforce wouldn’t affect his social standing. Most things he could deal with. But he knew it would most especially change how he was viewed as a prospective husband and father. It would affect Ruby’s prospects. Whether he went to work or not, though, their futures would be changed. And one outcome could be infinitely worse than the other. He’d need to be careful.

Cy went to the armoire. Rummaging around in the back of a lower drawer, he retrieved a small muslin bag. The familiar weight and click of its contents brought back a flood of memories. He opened the drawstring closure and poured the contents into his hand.

He picked up a particular marble and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Rose quartz. He hadn’t thought of it in years.

He fisted the marble. Violet had stepped to him in such a fluid rush, that blasted posy in her hand. Her gentle fragrance, both rich and fresh, sweet and dusky, had wafted over him in that single movement and had nearly lost him his footing. He was certain she could feel his heart thud behind his lapel. They’d been children together, yes. She’d questioned him, challenged him, tormented him, and at times, bested him. But in that moment, that searing, frozen moment of nearness, he’d taken in the shape of her face, her mouth, her pert chin, the swirl of her hair and its deeper honeyed color, recognized the determined position of her brow, knew the agility, grace and strength of her fingers, and the quick, brilliant mind behind it all. He’d anticipated her lifted gaze, knowing the shade of those surf-green eyes. She was no longer a girl. She was a woman. And Cy had been painfully reminded of the thing he’d been trying to bury for years.

He had no idea how long he’d been in love with Miss Violet Whittemore of Kinthwaite Park, but it felt like an eternity.

And taking a paid position gave him reason to finally let go any hope of being anything more to her than a jousting partner.

Chapter 3

Violet handed her order, with specifications, to her maid, Liza. “Make sure the garments are delivered to Locke Hill. Father would blow like Vesuvius if he decided to be intrusive.”

With a knowing gleam in her eye, Liza bobbed a curtsy and left for the post.

Violet suppressed the urge to clap in anticipation. The latest athletic and bathing costumes might inspire a wide array of responses from the general public, but to Violet, they were a means to freer movement, less bulk, and the ability to go faster.

And Violet loved to go fast.

She pulled on her driving gloves as she searched for Mama. Instead of holding their weekly meeting at Briarwall Manor, Lydia’s home and the adjoining estate to Kinthwaite Park, Violet was taking the Wendy League on an outing. A much-anticipated outing. A shiver of a thrill skittered up Violet’s spine.

Striding toward the study, she reached for the door handle at the same moment she heard her father’s voice and her own name. She halted, her forward momentum nearly causing her to stumble. Heart in her throat, she leaned forward with her ear toward the door.

“I will have no daughter of mineteaching. As if she weren’t odd enough—she should bemarried, blast it. She could attachherself to apeerif she put forth the effort. If American heiresses are doing it, by gum, why not her?”

“Are you suggesting that a daughter ofminetrade her monetary value for a title?”

“You know what I meant. This is your doing, Anne. You’ve filled her head with all of this—”

“Careful, my dear,” Mama interrupted Father. Violet’s eyes widened. Nobody interrupted Father. “All ofthismay come to your rescue one day.”

“Bah. I pray that day will never come.”

“Do you intend to live forever?”